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[P.  N9 


"SlIR   liOOKED   back" 


BOUND    IN    SHALLOWS 


B  Vlovel 


EVA  WILDER  BRODHEAD 

AUTHOR  OF 
" DIANA'S  livery"   "an  EARTHLY   PARAGON" 

"ministers  of  grace"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 
HARPEB   &  BROTnERS   PUBLISHERS 

1897 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

DIANA'S   LIVERY.      A  Novel.      Post  Svo,  Cloth, 
Ornamenliil,  $1  25. 

AN  EARTHLY  PARAGON.    A  Novel.    Illustrated. 
Post  Svo,  Cloth,  Oruamental,  $1  25. 

MINISTERS  OP  GRACE.   Illustrated.   Square  32mo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00. 


PuBUSHSD  BY  HABPER  &   BROTHERS,  New  York. 


Copyright,  1896,  by  Harper  &  Brother& 


All  rightt  raervtd. 


TO 

HENRY  C.  BRODHEAD 


2200832 


ILLUSTKATIONS 


"  BIIE  LOOKED  BACK  ' Frontispiece 

"'it's   a   mercy   I    didn't   ask   the 

DOCTOR  IK'" Facing  p.      20 

"  'you're  NOT  GOING  TO  FORGET  ABOUT 

TO-MORROW  ?' " "            64 

"'OH,  I've  been  so  miserable!'"  .    .  "         96 

"  'I  won't  GO  away,'  she  said".    .    .  "       200 

'"she's  GOING  I    THE  STUFF    IS  PASSING 

out!'" "       250 


BOUKD   IN   SHALLOWS 


He  knew  that  they  were  talking  of  him — 
talking  with  heat  and  force  and  an  accent  of 
argument.  He  could  not,  indeed,  hear  what 
they  were  saying,  for  a  lusty  wind  of  late  May 
whirred  in  the  great  beeches  under  which  he 
sat,  somewhat  off  from  the  pale  brown  bulk  of 
the  big,  ruinous  hotel,  and  the  murmur  of  the 
leaves  mixed  confusedly  with  the  cries  of  a 
blue-jay,  flashing  skyey  gleams  from  branch 
to  branch.  Children,  too,  were  shouting;  a 
dog  barked  shrilly  in  the  yard  of  some  little 
dwelling  below  the  cliff,  while  from  the  un- 
seen railway  tracks  at  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
where  workmen  were  putting  in  new  ties,  came 
a  dull  sound  of  hammering,  which  reduced  to 
mere  intonations  the  voices  of  the  two  elderly 
men  on  the  hotel  porch. 


2  BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS 

These  intonations,  however,  conveyed  a  full 
and  perfect  assurance  of  diverging  opinions ; 
and  if  Dillon  had  required  further  evidence 
that  his  uncle  and  the  president  of  the  mill 
were  not  at  one  concerning  him,  he  might  have 
found  it  in  the  very  attitude  of  the  talkers  and 
in  the  drift  of  their  occasional  gestures.  But 
Dillon  did  not  need  any  such  corroboration; 
he  knew  very  well  what  it  all  meant.  His  mind 
was  quite  free  from  curiosity,  and  he  was  sen- 
sible of  feeling  nothing  very  clearly  except  a 
sickish  sense  of  pity  for  his  uncle. 

"  What  a  position  for  the  poor  old  fellow  \" 
muttered  Dillon.  "  Would  to  Grod  I  had  act- 
ed differently  !  But  Iioav  could  I,  being  what  I 
am  ?"  He  drew  his  hand,  a  slim,  nervous  hand, 
across  his  temples  with  the  swift  stroke  of  a 
man  who  defies  a  rising  emotion.  His  chin, 
which  had  a  hint  of  race  in  the  slight  bulge 
Just  under  the  lip,  shook  a  little,  and  then  set- 
tled to  a  sullen  kind  of  calm.  He  jerked  his 
straw  hat  over  his  dimming  eyes,  which  were 
deeply  blue,  with  dilating  pupils  and  a  large 
movement  in  their  wasted  orbits.  Below  them 
were  bluish  shadows  and  the  radiation  of  lines 
that  looked  strangely  sharp  in  so  youthful  a 
face.  The  paleness  and  softness  of  Dillon's 
cheek,  under  its  wisping  thread  of  yellowish 
mustache,  bore  out  this  intimation  of  worn 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  8 

tissues  and  depleted  nerves ;  and  there  was 
also  in  the  line  of  the  young  man's  shoulders  a 
certain  laxity  which  seemed  to  hint  of  some 
inert  quality  of  temperament.  Even  as  he 
straightened  himself  and  struck  a  sudden  hand 
upon  his  knee  this  suggestion  did  not  wholly 
disappear. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  make  it  up  to  him  yet  V 
he  thought,  listlessly.  "  Who  knows  ?  *  Best 
men/  they  say,  ^are  moulded  out  of  faults.' 
If  only  that  resolute-looking  old  official  yonder 
would  listen  to  reason.  Who  knows  ?"  He 
turned  to  glance  a  questioning  eye  towards  the 
high  piazza  of  the  hotel. 

His  uncle  appeared  to  be  laying  off  in  one 
lean  shred  of  a  hand  some  weighty  point  for 
Dunbar's  consideration.  From  his  bronzed 
old  cheeks  his  white  side-beard  jutted  with  an 
eager  alertness,  and  the  pose  of  his  small,  wiry 
frame  indicated  pleading  and  suspense.  Op- 
posite him,  in  a  kind  of  patient,  passive  sto- 
lidity, Dunbar  sat  listening,  polite  but  unim- 
pressed. Over  his  collar  the  thick  ridges  of 
his  neck  bulged  hard  and  decisive,  and  the  set 
of  his  large  graying  head  seemed  to  presage  an 
unalterable  conviction. 

"Evidently  he  refuses  to  be  influenced,'' 
Dillon  concluded.  **He'8  going  to  discoun- 
tenance the  whole  thing.     Well,  I'm  not  sur- 


4  BOUND  IN  BHALLOWS 

prised.  Nor  do  I  blame  him  mncli."  He 
sighed  and  his  face  flagged  as  he  looked  across 
the  valley  and  sighted  the  distant  knobs,  and 
began  to  realize  how  he  had  built  upon  the 
chance  of  losing  himself  and  forgetting  the 
fever  and  fret  of  life  in  this  quiet  spot  niched 
so  peacefully  in  the  Cumberland  foot-hills.  He 
could  catch  the  swarthy  shine  of  the  rivers  far 
below ;  for  the  town  lay  snugly  in  the  arms  of 
the  Cumberland  and  its  South  Fork  ;  while  all 
about  the  cleft  lowlands  rose  a  ring  of  hills, 
wooded  to  the  crest,  and  lapsing  through  ev- 
ery gradation  of  spring  greenness  to  the  milky 
lilac  of  the  shadowy  rises  rippling  across  the 
remoter  sky  of  Wayne  County. 

Up  hill  and  down  it  lay,  as  he  could  see — 
this  Kentucky  town,  through  which  the  course 
of  the  great  railway  curved,  bridging  the  wide 
river  and  swagging  along  the  east  cliff  above 
the  sharp  descent  of  the  hill  road.  Down  in 
the  swale  of  the  waterways  several  spreading 
mill  roofs,  flanked  with  countless  piles  of  tim- 
ber, with  stave  -  buckers,  with  a  number  of 
stores,  a  Masonic  building,  a  church  spire,  and 
a  great  many  small  houses,  flashed  off  a  bright 
magenta  through  the  full  leafage  of  late  spring. 
Like  threads  of  yellow  in  a  green  fabric,  two 
or  three  flat,  curbloss  roads  stitched  the  weedy 
bottoms.      One    of   them,   sheering  abruptly. 


I 


BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS  5 

crossed  the  railway  at  the  jig -sawed  station 
near  the  knoll  on  which  the  hotel  reared  its 
faded  pinnacles  and  scaling  towers  and  empty 
flag-staff.  Beyond  the  net-work  of  tracks  and 
switches  this  stony,  deeply  rutted  cart -way, 
twisting  past  the  station  platform,  made  a  final 
rise  to  the  level  of  the  bluff  and  wandered  off 
in  the  swarded,  shaded  skirts  of  the  smooth 
headlands.  These  upper  places  of  the  village, 
with  their  half-dozen  dwellings  of  modern  fash- 
ions, held  the  same  outlook,  wild  and  chang- 
ing and  always  full  of  beauty,  which  spread 
itself  before  the  hotel  knoll.  And  sitting  in 
the  shadow  of  the  beeches,  gazing  out  upon  the 
differences  of  the  scene,  Dillon  felt  a  sense  of 
resentment  coloring  his  pleasure  in  the  broken 
splendors  of  these  hills  and  streams.  With 
them  about  him  it  appeared  as  if  he  might 
have  braced  himself  for  a  last  trial  of  life,  and 
the  brightness  of  their  aspect  was  naturally 
enhanced  by  the  sullen  negation  of  Dunbar's 
manner. 

*^It  all  depends  on  what  he  has  heard  of 
me,*'  mused  Dillon.  *^  Or  is  at  present  hear- 
ing I"  he  added,  remarking  his  uncle's  ani- 
mated flow  of  talk.  '^God  knows  just  how 
far  the  poor  old  man  will  feel  compelled  to 
push  his  disclosures !"  He  bit  his  lip ;  and 
as  he  did  so  its  suggestion  of  Irish  blood  came 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 


into  greater  prominence.  In  a  chopping  of 
the  wind  a  single  word  drifted  to  his  ears.  It 
was  on  his  uncle's  lips ;  but  Dunbar,  rousing  a 
little,  took  it  up,  repeating  it  in  a  kind  of  dis- 
liking fashion  not  in  the  least  encouraging  to 
Dillon's  hopes. 

"  Mistakes !"  said  the  president  of  the  mill. 
**If  it  were  only  a  question  of  mistakes,  Mr. 
Burkely !  But  I'm  afraid  the  word  isn't  de- 
scriptive. Eh  ? — I  don't  want  to  be  too  hard 
on  young  blood !  I  haven't  always  been  old 
myself !  Hang  it,  no  !"  He  laughed,  rubbing 
his  knee  appreciatingly,  as  one  who  does  not 
undervalue  the  instructive  quality  of  youthful 
errors.  "But  in  business,"  he  went  on,  stif- 
fening again — "in  business  a  man's  got  to — 
to  draw  the  line  somewhere.  He's  got  to. 
Now  I  don't  like  to  say  anything  that  may 
displease  you,  Burkely,  but  we  both  know  that 
your  nephew  has  kept  up  a  pretty  lively  pace. 
You  see,  I'm  in  Cincinnati  myself  ofE  and  on, 
and  I  hear  things.  I've  heard  of  him,  partic- 
ularly, because  he  was  with  the  Jonas  Lumber 
Company,  and  I  have  dealings  with  the  Jonases 
myself.  Of  course  I've  nothing  to  say  concern- 
ing young  Dillon's  character  or  conduct,  except 
that  when  you  ask  me  to  make  a  place  for  him 
in  the  mill  I  feel  as  if  I  had  no  right,  even 
when  I  think  of  my  personal  friendship  for 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  7 

you,  to  forget  that  he  has  led  a  wild  sort  of 
life.  It's  true  that  you  are  a  large  stock- 
holder—" 

"  I  haven't  asked  you  to  give  him  a  position 
on  that  base,  Mr.  Dunbar." 

*'You  have  a  perfect  right  to  ask  it  on  that 
base  —  just  as  I  have  the  right,  on  the  same 
base,  to  hesitate.  You  see,  I'm  afraid  he'll  only 
spoil  our  discipline.  How  can  any  one  hope 
that  he'll  stick  to  business  ?  He  had  an  envi- 
able position  with  the  Jonases.  Only  the  most 
powerful  influence  could  have  secured  such  an 
opening  for  an  inexperienced  man.  I  don't  ask 
what  he  did  to  lose  that  opening ;  but  I  sup- 
pose he  has  lost  it,  since  he  is  willing  to  take  a 
mere  clerkship  in  the  mill.  I  gather  that  his 
dissipations  forced  the  Jonases  to  dispense  with 
his  services.  Probably,  then,  he  would  be  of 
very  little  use  to  us." 

**  He  is  greatly  changed — greatly  changed." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.  But  I've  a  kind  of  notion 
that  men  never  change  very  greatly." 

"Never  change ! — that  would  be  a  subversion 
of  all  morality ! — good  heavens !  See  here,  Dun- 
bar, you're  too  critical.  I  haven't  denied  that 
my  boy  has  had  his  fling,  have  I  ?  Nor  have  I 
said  he's  that  paragon  of  broomsticks,  a  model 
young  man.  He  isn't.  He  has  faults.  I 
wouldn't  give  much  for  a  man  of  twenty-seven 


8  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

that  hadn't.  But  he  has  virtues,  too — virtues, 
sir  !  He's  clever.  He's  generous.  He's  kind. 
He  hasn't  a  grain  of  conceit.  He's  gentle  and 
amiable,  always ;  and  it  has  been  justly  said 
that  these  qualities  precede  all  morality.  Of 
course  he's  been  thoughtless,  reckless.  Like 
Marc  Antony  in  the  play — Shakespeare,  you 
remember — he's  been  given  to  sports,  to  wild- 
ness,  and  much  company.  All  reclaimable 
faults.     Quite  reclaimable  !" 

"M-m;  well,  perhaps." 

"  And  then  I'm  considerably  to  blame,  my- 
self. He  came  into  my  charge  as  a  child — my 
sister's  boy.  She'd  made  a  bad  marriage,  and 
when  she  died  she  left  him  to  me.  Only  five 
years  old,  poor  little  beggar !  I  didn't  know 
how  to  rear  him.  We've  lived  around  at  ho- 
tels. He's  never  had  a  home  or  the  influences 
that  a  boy  ought  to  have.  I've  spoilt  him — I 
admit  it.  He's  always  done  as  he  pleased.  I 
was  too  fond  of  him  to  cross  him.  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  can  understand  how  I  feel.  But  if 
you  had  a  boy  of  your  own,  however  wayward, 
you'd  be  able  to." 

Dunbar  growled  out  a  word  of  doubt.  Some- 
thing in  the  old  man's  face,  so  piteous  in  its 
eagerness,  touched  him,  and  he  frowned  down 
his  awakening  compassion. 

^*I  admit,"  quavered  Mr.  Burkely,  ''that  he 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  9 

— he  threw  away  his  opportunities  with  the 
Jonases.  It  was  six  months  ago.  Since  then 
he's  been  badly  off,  and  though  we've  travelled 
he  hasn't  got  back  his  tone.  He  can't  rid 
himself  of  a  deadly  depression.  I  feel  and  he 
himself  feels  that  occupation  is  his  only  hope. 
And  when  we  both  came  to  this  conclusion  I 
thought  of  Streamlet,  its  beauty,  its  quiet — " 

"Oh,  it's  a  promising  enough  little  place! 
But,  after  all,  it's  only  a  river  hamlet,  a  hollow 
in  the  knobs.  I  doubt  if  there  will  be  any- 
thing here  to  interest  him.  His  tastes,  you 
know,  aren't  for  the  purely  pastoral." 

"He's  perceptive,  very  perceptive.  And 
the  sharp  social  contrasts  here  would  interest 
anybody.  Then  you  have  some  thoroughly 
good  people — the  Morrows,  now.  I  remember 
Major  Morrow  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  I 
sincerely  hope — "  His  thin  voice,  which  had 
in  it  a  perpetually  recurring  quaver,  like  the 
motive  in  a  strain  of  sorrowful  music,  faltered 
and  failed.  Dunbar  started  and  lifted  his 
heavy  hand. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  I'll  do  what  you 
ask.  Will  you  bring  him  down  to  the  yards 
to-morrow  ?  We'll  see  what  can  bo  fixed  up. 
Perhaps  nothing  better  at  first  than  something 
in  the  way  of  inspecting.  I  suppose  he  can 
inspect?    It  isn't  agreeable  work."    He  lifted 


10  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

his  hand  again,  this  time  in  a  gesture  of  warn- 
ing, as  the  other  burst  out  with  a  word  of  grati- 
tude. 

''The  Bohun  girl  is  just  behind  you/'  he 
advised  Mr.  Burkely,  smiling.  "  She's  talking 
to  a  drummer  in  the  office.  Alexa  can,  how- 
ever, like  many  of  her  sex,  talk  and  listen  at 
once."  And  as  the  old  man  turned  to  speed 
an  inquisitive  glance  through  the  great  door- 
way, the  mill  president  asked,  "  Do  you  re- 
member Alexa?  True,  it's  been  some  time 
since  you  were  down  here.  I  thought  you 
might  recall  the  little  black-eyed,  brown-legged 
girl  who  used  to  play  around  the  boom-house 
in  the  days  when  Bohun  lived  there  and  cooked 
for  the  loggers.  Alexa  was  something  of  a 
local  celebrity  in  those  times.  She  could  walk 
the  boom-sticks  like  a  cat,  and  ride  on  the  log 
cars  in  a  most  amazing  fashion.  Alexa's  for- 
gotten all  those  antics  now.  She's  grown  up, 
and  is  a  person  of  considerable  dignity.  Don't 
remember  her,  eh  ?  We  mill  folks  have  a  warm 
spot  in  our  hearts  for  Alexa." 


n 


The  hotel  at  Streamlet  had  been  bnilt  on 
a  highly  imposing  scale  by  certain  projectors, 
who,  when  the  new  railway  was  laid  out  along 
the  cliff,  saw  limitless  possibilities  in  the  little 
settlement  at  the  joining  of  the  rivers.  The 
settlement  was  indeed  only  a  scattering  of  poor 
sheds,  all  of  them  sunken  in  the  pervasive  dog- 
fennel  of  the  lowlands,  and  with  clapboarded 
roofs,  gray  and  oblique  in  the  shadow  of  the 
slopes.  The  only  structure  having  any  pre- 
tension of  size  or  solidity  sat  midway  of  the 
hamlet — a  weather-worn  old  house  with  a  great 
stone  chimney  and  a  double  gallery  latticed 
in  aged  grape-vines.  This  dwelling  had  also 
some  claim  to  distinction  in  the  fact  of  hav- 
ing been  during  the  war  the  headquarters  of  a 
general  whose  tents  whitened  the  surrounding 
hills,  and  whose  signals  burned  upon  the  brow 
of  the  sphinx-shaped  knob  brooding  along  the 
South  Fork.  Besides  this  single  dwelling  and 
its  half-dozen  neighboring  cottages  there  was 


12  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

nothing  to  substantialize  that  vision  of  a  popu- 
lous city  which  inspired  the  land  company  to 
the  building  of  so  large  a  house  of  entertain- 
ment. But  the  land  company  had  the  pro- 
phetic reach  which  is  the  common  heritage  of 
land  companies ;  it  considered  that  Streamlet 
already  commanded  the  traffic  of  the  Cumber- 
land, and  that  the  wedge-shaped  little  track 
already  spanning  the  valley  would  unify  this 
commerce  with  that  of  the  great  line  tunnelling 
the  Kentucky  hills  north  and  south  of  the 
town.  In  view  of  these  things  there  was  ap- 
parently nothing  to  do  but  to  arrange  valley 
and  knobs  in  sections  convenient  for  immedi- 
ate sales,  and  to  see  to  it  that  those  who  came 
to  set  afoot  great  enterprises  in  the  new  town 
should  not  lack  suitable  lodgement. 

The  hotel,  therefore,  almost  at  a  breath,  rose 
upon  the  beeched  cliff  overlooking  the  green 
slough  destined  to  so  great  activities;  but 
strangely  enough,  when  the  noise  of  building 
was  over  and  the  gables  and  minarets  finished 
to  the  last  shingle  and  a  breadth  of  bunting 
arranged  upon  the  flag-staff,  an  unexpected 
quietude  settled  over  the  place,  and  the  foot- 
steps of  those  who  fared  through  the  wide 
halls  were  hardly  to  be  heard  above  the  rush 
and  rattle  of  the  beeches  leaning  on  the  empty 
eaves.    For  there  seemed  fewer  capitalists  than 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  18 

one  wonld  have  thought  who  had  long  waited 
an  opportunity  of  investing  fortunes  in  saw  and 
shingle  mills,  in  stave  works  and  spigot  fac- 
tories, and  such  other  undertakings  as  are  in- 
vited by  mountain  streams  and  boundless  tim- 
ber. Those  who  came  paid  fitting  tributes  to 
the  scenery,  indeed,  but  none  of  them  stayed 
long,  and  the  future  of  the  town  fortunately 
became  a  matter  of  natural  growth. 

It  took  so  much  time  for  the  great  saw-mill 
and  various  pulp  works  and  tie  offices  and 
other  concerns  to  establish  themselves,  that 
when  things  were  finally  in  running  order  and 
the  Nashville  steamers  had  a  landing  and  a 
freight-house,  as  well  as  a  fixed  business,  the 
hotel  had  ceased  being  fine  and  imposing  and 
wore  a  relaxed  and  careless  air.  After  twelve 
or  fifteen  years  of  waiting  in  smart  attire,  it 
seemed  to  find  the  slipshod  garb  permitted  to 
defeated  hopes  rather  agreeable  than  other- 
wise. Considerable  of  its  brownish  paint  had 
flaked  off,  leaving  traces  of  the  sodden  boards 
revealed  in  the  clinging  scales,  like  glimpses 
of  an  aging  face  in  a  lace  veil ;  the  lofty  porch 
pillars  had  here  and  there  rotted  at  the  base ; 
the  flooring  yawned ;  and  the  steps  were  warped 
into  troughs  where  rain  lingered  long,  and 
where,  in  sunny  weather,  certain  lizards,  spat- 
tered on  the  head  as  with  red  sealing-wax, 


14  BOXJNB  IN  SHALLOWS 

came  to  bask,  snapping  as  they  did -so  at  un- 
suspecting gnats  and  the  dancing  shadows  of 
the  porch  vines  overhead.  Above  the  bleached 
towers  a  colorless  wisp  of  cotton  floated  from 
a  bent  stick  in  meagre  reminder  of  the  rain- 
bow flag  once  furled  there  in  the  face  of  the 
beeches.  These  alone  had  gone  from  splendor 
to  splendor,  dusting  the  sky  with  impalpable 
green,  spreading  gracious  shadows  everywhere, 
thrusting  kindly  branches  against  the  great 
ofi&ce  windows,  otherwise  curtainless  and  honey- 
combed with  the  alternating  effects  of  many 
seasons,  wet  and  dry. 

"  They  ought  to  be  cut  out — those  trees, '^  re- 
marked Alexa  to  the  young  man  with  whom 
Mr.  Burkely  could  see  her  in  speech.  "It's 
so  dark  here  I  don't  know  but  I've  got  your 
change  wrong.  You  better  count  it."  And 
Alexa  inclined  herself  idly  against  the  rim  of 
the  small  cigar-case,  yawning  a  little  as  she  did 
so,  and  observing  her  finger  nails  critically. 
The  young  man  dropped  the  silver  pieces  into 
his  pocket.  His  expression  seemed  to  indicate 
that  he  would  prefer  being  dull  and  silent,  if 
fate  had  not  evilly  sorted  him  a  business  in 
which  animation  and  volubility  are  particu- 
larly desirable. 

"  Makes  it  rather  gloomy,"  he  puffed,  light- 
ing a  cigar. 


BOUND  XS  SHALLOWS  16 

*'  GloGDjjy !"  repeated  Alexa,  casting  her  long, 
brown  throat  disgustedly  aside.  **  Gloomy  V* 
Alexa's  skin  had  the  color  of  citron ;  iris  and 
pupil  met  indefinitely  in  the  blackness  of  her 
eyes,  and  her  coarse  silken  hair,  carelessly 
braided,  shone  with  a  violet  lustre.  Her  slim- 
ness  had  a  youthful  angularity,  and  she  moved 
with  a  loose-jointed  effect  approaching  grace- 
fulness. Something  a  little  sullen,  a  little  sus- 
picious, inhered  in  her  manner.  With  the 
richness  of  her  coloring  and  her  half-defiant, 
half  -  indifferent  air,  she  gave  the  observer  an 
idea  of  wild  impulses  and  a  sombre,  almost 
tragic  turn  of  character.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  meditations  of  Alexa's  moody  brows  were 
seldom  concerned  with  things  more  profound 
than  the  relative  becomingness  of  red  and 
pink  ribbons,  or  the  possible  sentiments  of 
those  social  magnates,  the  hill  folk,  regarding 
a  young  person,  who,  while  she  herself  lived  at 
present  on  the  bluff,  could  not  forget  having 
once  dwelt  in  the  extremest  depths  of  the  bot- 
toms. The  days  when  she  had  lived  across 
the  South  Fork  and  carried  coffee  in  tin  cups 
to  the  boom  men,  and  walked  the  boom-sticks 
and  paddled  her  dugout  in  the  teeth  of  a 
"tide" — these  shameless,  happy  days  were  be- 
come a  thorn  in  Alexa's  heart.  For  a  lofty, 
Persian  idea  of  caste  prevailed  in  Streamlet, 


16  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

and  those  who  lived  above  the  railway  were 
held  to  be  of  a  different  sort  of  clay  from  those 
who  dwelt  in  the  flats. 

The  hill  folk  themselves  were  nnassuming 
enough,  and  they  had  never  set  afloat  any 
theories  relative  to  their  distinction ;  they  had 
their  business  affairs  in  the  bottoms  with  the 
villagers,  occupying  themselves  in  stores,  fac- 
tories, or  various  ofiices  about  the  mill,  and 
living  in  the  simple  way  which  is  common  to 
sensible  people  everywhere.  But  they  could 
not  escape  the  suspicion  of  haughty  reserve 
put  upon  them  by  the  burghers,  and  their  well- 
meant  cordialities  were  usually  received  by  their 
neighbors  of  the  valley  with  a  chill  distrust  im- 
plying a  fear  of  patronage.  It  was  not  strange 
if  the  hill  folk,  thus  impedestalled  in  spite  of 
themselves,  had  perhaps  in  the  course  of  the 
years  come  to  accept  the  situation  thus  forced 
upon  them,  and  to  assume  a  certain  belief  in 
their  own  superiority. 

"  Gloomy  \"  said  Alexa.  "  It's  like  every- 
thing else  here  !"  And  she  glanced  round  the 
immense,  bare  office,  taking  in  its  tall  windows, 
its  pillared  ceiling,  from  which  a  great  patch  of 
mortar  had  fallen,  leaving  a  section  of  grinning 
laths,  its  long  counter,  dented  water-cooler, 
and  rusty  key-board. 

"  There's  never  anything  going  on,"  special- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  17 

ized  Alexa,  writing  her  name  in  the  thick  dust 
of  the  counter.  "  Of  course,  there's  dances  in 
the  bottoms.  But  I  never  mix  with  the  bottom 
people.  Ma  wouldn't  hear  it.  And  the  hill 
folks — oh,  they're  sociable  and  all  that,  and  if 
they  got  up  anything  I'd  be  asked — we're  hill 
folks  ourselves,  as  much  as  anybody !"  she 
added,  sharply.  "  But  there's  no  girls  of  my 
age  among  'em  except  Miss  Lucy  Morrow. 
She's  considered  mighty  sweet,  and  some  think 
she's  right  pretty.  Not  much  color,  maybe, 
but  regular  featured.  Even  her  I  don't  see 
much  of ;  she's  mostly  visiting  her  kin  in  the 
blue  grass.  Her  mother's  folks  live  up  yender. 
This  Mrs.  Morrow's  only  her  step-mother,  you 
know;.  She's  nice,  though.  Say,  I  wonder 
whose  horse  that  is  nickering  at  our  gate  ? — 
Looks  like  Dr.  Taliaferro's  roan.  There's 
doctor  now,  coming  up  the  path.  Him  and 
Colonel  Dunbar  are  great  friends. — How  do, 
doctor  ?" 

The  young  man  mounting  the  porch  steps 
took  off  his  hat,  displaying  a  considerable  crop 
of  darkish  hair,  somewhat  rumpled.  "Good- 
day,  Alexa,"  he  said,  in  a  ringing  sort  of  voice 
which  bore  out  the  frank  quality  of  his  light, 
deeply  embedded  eyes.  He  looked  square  and 
strong,  and  also  a  little  rough  and  heavy  as 
he  stood  on  the  porch  with  pocketed  hands 


18  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

and  a  smile  of  greeting  in  his  clipped,  nonde- 
script mustache.  "  I  suppose  you're  quite  well, 
Alexa  ?  Anything  more  discouraging  than  the 
blooming  healthf  ulness  of  this  community  ! — 
why,  nobody  ever  has  anything  more  alarming 
than  a  risin' !  "What's  that  ?  Your  mother's  a 
little  sick,  eh  ?" 

*'Headachey,"  explained  Alexa.  *' Will  you 
wait  while  I  see  if  she  wants  some  powders  ?" 

"I  will,  if  you  hurry,"  said  the  doctor.  "I'm 
busy  to-day.  By -the -bye,  Alexa,  the  Daniel 
Boone  is  finished ;  quite  a  trim  little  boat ! 
The  company  is  going  to  try  her  to-morrow  if 
there's  enough  water  to  float  her.  They  are 
going  to  run  her  to  Mill  Springs,  and  you  are 
all  invited  to  take  the  trip.  You  especially,  Mr. 
Burkely,  I  was  told  to  invite  with  all  the  pomp 
and  ceremony  at  my  command.  Eeally,  if  the 
water  holds  out,  I  think  you  might  enjoy  it." 

Alexa  leaned  pensively  on  the  silver  edge  of 
the  cigar-case.  "  Is  it  a  hill  affair  ?"  she  called 
out.     "  Of  course,  if  it's  going  to  be  mixed — " 

Taliaferro  wheeled  round.  "  Mixed  !  See 
here,  Alexa,  you  little  goose ! — but  I  haven't 
time  to  waste  with  you  Just  now.  Go  and  see 
about  those  powders." 

"  What's  all  this  press  of  haste  ?"  asked  Dun- 
bar. "I  thought  you  were  just  complaining 
of  a  lack  of  trade — eh  ?    Is  old  Halifax  Burns 


BOimD  IN  SHALLOWS  19 

having  his  weekly  attack  of  heart-failure  to- 
day ?  Gad !  it's  wonderful  how  much  the 
human  heart  will  stand, — how  much  whiskey, 
I  should  add.  I  suppose  Burns  hasn't  been 
sober  for  twenty  years  ; — and  that  poor,  forlorn 
wife  of  his,  I  understand,  has  recourse  to  the 
same  spring  of  consolation.  Is  this  Burns's 
day,  doctor  ?" 

Taliaferro  laughed.    "  No.    No  one's  sick.''' 

*'  No  one  sick,  eh  ?  These  healthy  knobs  are 
no  place  for  you,  Taliaferro.  You  should  have 
remained  up  in  Woodford  County,  where  you 
belong.  Or  are  you  only  getting  in  your  hand 
on  us — eh  ?  Or  have  you  other  designs  here  ? 
Some  enterprise  not  immediately  connected 
with  therapeutics — eh  ?  eh  ? 

Taliaferro,  meeting  the  other's  quizzical  eye, 
flushed  all  over  his  rugged  young  face. 

**  Major  Morrow's  family,  now,"  chuckled 
Dunbar,  immensely  taken  with  his  own  pleas- 
antries— "of  course,  seeing  so  much  of  you, 
they  would  know  if  you  have  plans  which  you 
conceal  from  me.  I  intend  to  ask  them. 
Miss  Lucy  Morrow,  she  probablv  has  a  pretty 
fair—" 

*'rm  going,"  cut  in  Taliaferro.  *'Alexa 
will  have  to  get  those  powders  another  time." 

Alexa  had  just  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
great  room  that  lay  behind  the  office  and  com- 


20  BOUND  IN  SHAIiLOWS 

manded  by  four  cathedral-like  windows  a  hilly 
backyard  containing  a  pen  in  which  a  black 
hog,  flown  with  insolence  and  superabundant 
slop,  grunted  contempt  upon  the  lean  kine  in 
the  outer  pastures. 

*'  "Well  \"  cried  Alexa,  stopping  short.  "  It's 
a  mercy  I  didn't  ask  the  doctor  in — the  way 
you  look  I"  And  she  set  a  chastising  eye  upon 
her  mother,  who,  seated  in  a  rickety  rocking- 
chair  hard  by  an  open  window,  made  an  apolo- 
getic murmur  as  she  drew  a  side  breadth  of  her 
blue  cotton  skirt  across  the  various  spots  and 
stains  of  the  front. 

**I  been  too  busy  to  think  of  cleaning  up," 
sighed  Mrs.  Bohun,  impressively.  "Besides,  it 
Avouldn't  pay  me.  I  may  have  to  go  in  the 
kitchen  any  minute.  Kitty's  right  trillin',  and 
you  never  know  what  help  '11  do.  How'd  I  feel 
to  put  on  a  fresh  i'ned  apron  and  warsh  my 
hands,  and  then  find  I  had  to  turn  in  and  go 
to  cookin'  ?  I  got  to  think  of  these  things, 
Elex." 

*'0h,  goodness — " 

"  You  ain't  as  old  as  me,  Elex.  You'll  learn, 
as  I've  had  to,  that  no  person  ever  knows  what's 
before  'em,"  insisted  Mrs.  Bohun,  who  was  a 
long,  thin  woman  of  mild  clay  tints  and  a 
projecting  upper  jaw  which  gave  her  the  look 
of  maintaining  a  fixed,  conciliatory  smile.     "  I 


it's  a  meucy  I  didn't  ask  the  doctoh  in 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  81 

was  saying  only  this  morning  to  Mr.  Burkely, 
s'd  I,  '  This  hotel  ain't  kep'  up  like  we'd  like  to 
keep  it.  By  rights  them  windows  had  ought  to 
be  rinched  off.  But  we  never  know  when  the 
place  '11  be  sold  over  us,  and  we'd  feel  pretty  if 
it  changed  hands,  and  we  had  it  to  remember 
that  we'd  sozzled  round  warshin'  windows  for 
some  one  else  !  Then,  again,'  s'd  I,  *  there's  no 
fire-engyne  in  town;  and  just  as  sure  as  I'd 
have  the  office  floor  mopped  up  the  hull  place  'd 
likely  turn  in  and  burn  to  a  cender.  Y'  never 
know,'  s'd  I,  *  for  I  can  rickellict  once  of  throw- 
ing two  buckets  of  water  on  to  the  front  porch, 
and  lo  and  behold,  if  it  didn't  set  in  to  rain  ! 
— 'twas  May  a  year  ago — and  the  mud  -  tracks 
was  shoe  -  mouth  deep  on  my  clean  piazza ! 
Since  then  I  ain't  so  enterprising  to  wear  my- 
self out  a-slaving.  What  ain't  done  can't  be 
ondone,'  s'd  I  to  Mr.  Burkely.  He  said  he 
sensed  just  how  I  felt,  and  that  if  more  ladies 
had  my  idys  they'd  save  theirselves  a  heap  of 
trouble." 

Alexa's  eyes  were  ominous  under  their  thick 
brows.  ''You  went  into  the  office  and  stood 
talking — in  that  old  dress  ?" 

*'  Elex,  I  had  to  go  when  he  rung  the  coun- 
ter bell.  I  thought  'twas  the  station  agent 
wanting  a  cigar.  I  couldn't  fly,  could  I,  when 
I  see  Mr.  Burkely  and  his  nephew  ?    They'd 


23  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

come  on  No.  8  and  wanted  rooms.  But,  law, 
they  never  noticed  what  I  had  on  !  I  held  the 
register  agin  me.'^ 

Alexa  let  her  despairing  gaze  rove  about  the 
familiar  objects  in  the  vast  room.  The  organ 
with  the  stamped  green  cover  and  heaps  of 
ragged  music,  the  framed  crayon  portraits,  odd 
tables,  chests  of  drawers,  and  spidery  camp- 
chairs  seemed  to  impress  themselves  bitterly 
upon  her. 

"I  wonder  how  I  hold  up  my  head  at  all," 
she  cried  out,  "  what  with  all  I  have  to  bear ! 
Between  you  and  pa — " 

"  Elex  ! — now,  honey,  don't  get  to  going  on 
about  your  paw.  He  just  thinks  the  world 
and  all  of  you.  Look  at  the  organ  he  got  you, 
and  music  lessons,  and  all !  He'd  do  anything 
for  you.  Of  course  he's  a  little  notiony  about 
religion." 

"  Notiony ! — always  arguing  against  it.  Why 
can't  he  believe  like  other  people  ?  The  hill 
folks  would  think  more  of  us  if  it  wasn't  for 
his  talking." 

Mrs.  Bohun  was  twisting  up  her  hair.  She 
had  two  hair-pins  in  her  mouth,  and  her  voice 
strained  itself  reproaclifully  through  the  brass 
wires. 

"Your  paw  ain't  quite  sure  about  there  be- 
ing a  heaven  and  hell,  Elex.     I  d'  know  as  we 


BOUin>  IN  SHALLOWS  38 

ought  to  be  too  hard  on  him.  Of  course  Fd 
be  better  satisfied  if  he  held  for  a  hell.  It 
don't  matter  so  much  about  heaven."  She 
listened.  There  was  a  sound  of  heavy  foot- 
steps in  the  corridor,  and  in  a  moment  the  door 
opened,  admitting  an  elderly  man,  whose  lum- 
bering figure  was  incased  to  the  armpits  in 
trousers  of  a  black-and-white  stripe,  accurate- 
ly matching  the  streaks  of  the  great  beard 
overrunning  his  upper  portions. 

A  kindly  glance  and  a  very  complete  row  of 
lower  teeth  were  prominent  details  of  Mr.  Bo- 
hun's  appearance,  and  a  conical  felt  hat  and 
a  pair  of  gaiters  bulging  with  elastic  wedges 
completed  the  matter  of  his  attire. 

"  Here,  Elex,"  he  said,  tossing  her  a  letter — 
"here's  tidings  '11  cheer  you.  Seems  a  hull 
raft  of  railroaders  from  up  yonder  aim  to  come 
down  to  take  supper  with  us  next  Saturday. 
They'll  pack  three  pieces  of  music  along,  and 
dance  till  the  midnight  train.  I  knew  you'd 
be  pleased  !" 

"  Pleased  ?"  asked  Alexa,  with  rigid  eye- 
lids.    "  Me  ?" 

*'  Er — yes.     They  aim  to  dance — " 

"I  don't  care  what  they  aim  to  do.  What 
are  they  to  me  ?  If  it  was  my  own  friends  I 
might  have  some  reason  for  being  pleased. 
Friends  ! — I'd  have  trouble  to  name  any." 


24  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

"  Law,  Elex  !"  broke  in  her  mother.  "  Bean 
McBeath  just  thinks  you're  the  greatest  per- 
son going ;  and  there's  plenty  more.  Don't 
you  pay  no  attention,  paw.  Elex  is  only  a  lit- 
tle put  out  because  you  ain't  a  professor." 

"  She  is,  is  she  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bohun.  "  I 
'ain't  no  excuses  to  make,  Melindy.  I  was  born 
to  reason  and  I  got  to  keep  at  it.  Does  she 
think  I  do  it  for  pastime  —  addlin'  my  brains 
with  spec'lations  about  time  and  eternity  ? 
Lord  !  I  remember  when  I  was  light-minded 
and  cheerful  as  any  person,  and  never  knowed 
it  was  given  me  for  to  pierce  to  the  true  in'ard- 
ness  of  things.  My  powers  of  seeing  through 
things  came  on  me  in  the  twinkling  of  a 
eye." 

"Yes,  paw ;  we've  heard  you  tell  about  it." 

**  It  was  fifteen  year  back,"  pursued  Mr.  Bo- 
hnn,  unrelentingly.  "  I'd  put  me  in  four  acre 
of  tobacco  and  the  plants  was  all  taking  hold, 
and  I  was  feeling  mighty  fine  viewing  that 
stretch  of  shoots.  And  up  came  a  flooding 
rain  and  washed  out  every  last  blade  !  Well, 
sirs,  I  sot  on  a  fence  rail  cussin'  mad.  And 
'long  came  parson  on  his  sorrel  nag.  '  I  hope 
you're  resignated,'  says  he.  *It's  all  for  the 
best.  The  A'mighty  has  done  it.'  '  He  has  ?' 
says  I.  'Certain,'  says  he.  'Well,'  says  I, 
'  then  all  I  got  to  say  is  that,  take  him  up  one 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  36 

side  and  down  the  other,  he  does  as  mnch 
harm  as  he  does  good/" 

"And  parson  'lowed  you'd  be  brought  low 
for  them  words,  didn't  he?" 

"Yes'm,  yes'm,  he  did.  But  the  scales  had 
fell  from  my  eyes,  and  no  words  of  hisn  could 
put  'em  back.  Though  I  told  him  then  and 
I've  told  him  since  that  I'm  willin'  to  be  per- 
suaded, if  him  or  any  other  exhorter  can  do  it. 
And  Elex  can't  say  but  what  I  go  to  church 
reg'lar,  and  always  walk  front  and  shake  the 
preacher's  hand  after  meetin'  and  tell  him  how 
sorry  I  am  that  his  argyment  hasn't  fetched 
me.     Ain't  that  the  truth  ?" 

"Yes,  paw.  But  you  ought  to  try  and 
soften  your  heart,  seems  like." 

"'Tain't  my  business,"  protested  Mr.  Bohun, 
rising  to  attend  to  the  oflBce  bell.  "  It's  theirn. 
If  they  can't  do  it  they'll  have  it  to  answer 
for." 


m 


"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Burkely  to  his  nephew, 
''I  hardly  expect  that,  feeling  as  you  do,  there 
is  much  prospect  of  your  enjoying  this  ex- 
cursion to — what  is  the  place  ?  Mill  Springs, 
isn't  it  ?  M-m.  But  in  any  case  it  will  do 
you  good  —  take  your  mind  off  yourself.  The 
fact  is,  Burkely,  that  you  dwell  too  much 
on  the — the  past.  You  must  try  to  get  in  a 
healthier  state  of  mind  —  really  you  must. 
This  office  in  the  mills  isn't  a  big  thing ;  but 
it's  a  footing,  and  if  you  take  hold  and  buckle 
right  down  to  business — "  He  finished  the  sen- 
tence with  an  encouraging  nod.  "We  shall 
see." 

They  were  walking  slowly  down  the  hill 
road,  Mr.  Burkely  gesticulating  as  he  avoided 
the  loose  stones,  Dillon  following  the  deep 
wagon-ruts  with  abstracted  eyes.  It  was  nine 
of  the  morning,  and  the  local  freight  train 
could  still  be  heard  rounding  the  curves  below 
the  town.     Its  steadily  decreasing  sounds  came 


BOnin)  IN  SHALLOWS  87 

to  the  ear  in  a  monotonous  murmur,  which  now 
and  again  broke  out  loud  and  clear  as  some 
jut  of  the  cliff's  base  cast  the  clamor  sharply- 
back  into  the  maw  of  the  valley.  Geese  were 
cackling  in  a  lush  green  common  below  the 
hill,  and  a  cow-bell  echoed  faint  and  hollow 
from  the  rough  pasturage  on  the  summit  of 
the  sphinx-shaped  knob.  In  a  clump  of  thick 
old  trees  at  the  foot  of  this  outstretched  knoll 
the  house  of  the  commanding  general  stood 
gray  and  massive,  bulwarked  with  its  roughly 
built  chimney,  and  with  a  rich  overflow  of 
grape  leafage  in  its  two  long  galleries.  Before 
the  riven  picket  fence  a  man  was  mending  a 
fish -net,  which,  bulged  to  perfect  rotundity 
with  a  barrel  hoop,  hung  in  airy  meshes  from 
an  apple-tree  springing  midway  of  the  road. 

''You  are  too  good  to  me,"  said  Dillon,  half 
absently  lifting  his  eyes  upon  the  little  houses 
along  the  descent  of  the  hill.  "  I  wish  I  felt 
as  if  all  your  kindness  were  worth  while." 

"  If  you're  going  to  talk  like  that —  But  I 
sha'n't  listen.  You  aren't  yourself  yet.  Wait 
till  this  air  has  a  chance  to  straighten  you  out. 
And  the  simple,  natural  life  !  These  things 
will  do  wonders  for  you.  Last  night  when  we 
sat  a  moment  in  the  threadbare  hotel  parlor, 
listening  to  Bohun's  girl  play  her  poor  little 
tunes  on  the  rattle-trap  of  a  piano,  I  said  to 


28  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

myself  that  there  was  tonic  in  the  least  of 
these  homely  details  of  village  life.  I  looked 
at  Bohun,  tranced  as  he  was  in  pride  at  his 
daughter's  musical — by-the-bye,  Burkely,  I  be- 
lieve that  is  the  Bohun  girl  ahead  of  us  in  the 
road,  isn't  it  ? — turning  the  post-office  comer 
there,  with  those  red  things  in  her  hat — eh  ?" 

*'  Seems  to  he,"  replied  Dillon,  in  his  listless 
tones. 

They  had  reached  now  the  business  quar- 
ter of  the  town,  where  three  stores  with  high 
porches  faced  down  a  turnip  field,  and  a  barn- 
like structure  having  Masonic  devices  in  ul- 
tramarine over  its  secretive  upper  window. 
Beyond  this  the  rivers  shone  and  murmured  in 
their  drift-fringed  banks,  and  the  great  saws 
of  the  mills  filled  the  morning  with  a  sweet, 
fluty  music.  It  had  rained  up  the  Cumber- 
land, apparently,  but  the  South  Fork  country 
had  not  caught  much,  and  its  green,  un- 
troubled waters  broke  in  a  crystal  rim  against 
the  stirring  yellowness  of  the  deeper  current. 

The  ferry,  a  mere  float  of  broad  planks, 
throbbed  in  the  swirl  of  the  meeting  streams. 
Below  it,  issuing  a  ruddy  and  insistent  blast, 
the  Daniel  Boone,  with  a  red  gang-plank  thrust 
impudently  outward,  like  a  gamin's  tongue, 
nosed  the  crumbling  ochreous  clay  of  the 
bank.     A  fringe  of  bare,  boyish  legs  dangled 


BOUND  m  SHALLOWS  89 

over  the  edge  of  its  tiny  hurricane-deck;  a 
press  of  girls'  faces  thickened  below ;  and  far- 
ther down  on  the  little  main -deck,  protected 
with  a  heavy  stock-guard,  numbers  of  men 
lounged,  waiting  for  the  start. 

"Are  we  late  ?"  asked  Mr.  Burkely,  crossing 
the  plank. 

"  Oh  no  V  answered  Taliaferro,  greeting  him. 
"But  the  sooner  we  get  off  the  better;  for 
the  bottom  is  visibly  dropping  out  of  the  river, 
and  some  of  us  might  find  it  inconvenient 
to  get  hung  up  on  the  shoals  for  the  sum- 
mer." He  laughed  as  he  led  the  way  up  a 
ladder-like  flight  of  steps  to  the  other  deck, 
which  was  gay  with  starched  muslins  and  a  con- 
fusion of  voices. 

Dillon,  coming  suddenly  into  this  atmos- 
phere of  unfamiliar  faces  and  laughter  and 
chatter  and  general  bewilderment,  found  his 
glance  taken  by  the  garland  of  scarlet  flowers 
which  had  preceded  him  in  the  hill  road. 
Leaning  against  the  rail,  Alexa  Bohun  was 
giving  ear,  with  extreme  indifference,  to  some- 
thing which  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  hav- 
ing a  country  freshness  of  cheek  under  his 
broad  felt  hat,  was  saying  in  an  eager,  earnest 
sort  of  fashion.  There  could  be  little  doubt 
about  the  young  man's  deep  concern  with  the 
matter  of  his  speech ;  but  Alexa,  in  listening. 


30  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

merely  shrugged  her  shonlders  and  dropped 
her  heavy  lashes  in  a  way  directly  significant 
of  weariness.  Once  she  waved  off  the  subject  in 
discussion  with  an  imperative  gesture,  abruptly 
turning  her  black,  poppy- wreathed  hat.  When 
she  caught  sight  of  Taliaferro  and  Dillon 
these  tokens  of  distaste  and  languor  vanished, 
and  an  air  of  smiling  consciousness  replaced 
them.  Observing  it,  Dillon  had  a  sense  of  won- 
dering repugnance,  so  little  these  coquetries 
harmonized  with  the  girl's  fashion  of  mortality. 
Her  attire,  too,  struck  some  byway  of  disgust 
in  his  mind,  and  he  was  aware  of  being  dimly 
surprised  that  a  creature  possessing  beauty  so  se- 
rious and  profound  in  its  suggestiveness  should 
have  seemingly  almost  no  esthetic  sense. 

When  in  the  course  of  a  haphazard  incon- 
sequent talk  he  mentioned  to  Taliaferro  his 
discomfort  in  Alexa's  sidelong  glances  and  vul- 
garizing knots  and  ends  of  cheap  red  ribbon, 
the  doctor  looked  towards  the  girl  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  has  never  before  sensibly  taken 
stock  of  the  object  in  question. 

''She's  really  getting  to  be  handsome,"  he 
admitted,  in  a  tone  indicating  opinion  rather 
than  consciousness.  "I  never  noticed  her 
particularly  before.  She  has  got  a  lot  of  ribbon 
on,  hasn't  she  ? — tied  up  like  a  box  of  choco- 
lates.    Poor  Alexa  !   I  reckon   she  hasn't  an 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  81 

idea  that  the  archly  gay  and  slyly  demure 
aren't  her  style.  I  don't  suppose  she  knows 
she  has  a  style.  To  tell  the  truth,  I'd  never 
ciphered  it  out  myself.  Now  that  you  call  my 
attention  to  her,  however,  I  can  see  that  the 
Phaedra  sort  of  business  would  be  directly  in 
her  line.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am,  even  now, 
less  impressed  with  her  looks  than  with  the 
abominable  way  she  is,  as  usual,  treating  Beau 
McBeath.  Eh  ?  That's  he  she's  tolerating 
at  present.  Poor  beggar  !  He's  in  a  bad  way. 
Beau  is.  Devoted  to  the  fatuous  point,  you 
see.  Oh,  he  isn't  particularly  brilliant.  Beau 
isn't.  But  he's  a  kindly  chap,  and  he's  loved 
her  since  she  was  a  black-skinned  little  river- 
rat  living  yonder  in  the  boom-house.  Mis- 
fortune has  always  seemed  to  be  Beauregard's 
portion  in  life.  I  don't  know  that  his  lack  of 
success  in  this  instance  ought  to  occasion 
remark." 

Dillon  regarded  the  broad  felt  hat  of  Beau- 
regard McBeath  with  a  moderate  accession  of 
interest.  **  He  doesn't  look  like  a  man  *  re- 
served and  destined  to  peculiar  woe.' " 

*'No.  He's  got  a  rather  cheerful  bloom. 
But  have  you  never  heard  Mr.  Burkely  or  any 
one  else  speak  of  the  McBeath  walnut  tract  ? 
It's  celebrated  among  lumbermen,  and  rather 
a  sad  and  complicated  history  belongs  to  the 


BOUND  m  SHALLOWS 


wood.  It  seems  that  about  thirty  years  ago 
Beauregard's  father  and  a  friend  of  the  name 
of  Conner  came  into  this  section  and  settled 
in  Wayne  in  a  magnificently  wooded  stretch 
overlooking  the  South  Fork.  They  built  them 
a  house  of  logs,  all  chinked  and  sealed  com- 
fortable, and  things  went  well  with  them  till 
they  both  fell  in  love  with  a  girl  —  the  same 
girl,  unhappily.  From  what  I  learn,  Conner 
had  the  inside  track.  But  whatever  his  posi- 
tion was  it  really  didn't  matter  in  the  end  ;  for 
one  day  he  was  found  under  one  of  the  walnut- 
trees  dead.  There  were  very  obvious  evidences 
of  foul  play;  but  McBeath  for  some  reason 
wasn't  suspected,  though  he  took  possession, 
without  question,  of  his  partner's  share  in  the 
estate  and  married  his  partner's  sweetheart. 
He  didn't  prosper,  however.  Poetic  justice, 
rare  in  this  plain  world,  overtook  him.  All 
his  children,  except  Beau,  died  in  infancy;  his 
wife  was  half  demented  for  a  time  over  their 
loss ;  his  property  ran  through  his  hands  like 
water ;  he  came  finally  to  own  nothing  besides 
the  walnut  wood,  and  whatever  his  needs  he 
wouldn't  sell  a  stick  of  it.  When  he  lay  dying, 
two  years  ago,  it  is  generally  believed  that  he 
made  a  clean  breast  of  his  guilt  regarding 
Conner.  At  all  events,  he  exacted  from  his 
wife  and  son  an  oath  that  they  would  never  sell 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  83 

the  walnut  till  it  was  demonstrated  that  Con- 
ner had  died  without  heirs.  For  it  appears 
that  old  McBeath  had  known  more  or  less 
definitely  of  a  sister  of  Conner's,  away  back  in 
Virginia.  He  had  tried,  under  the  prick  of 
conscience,  to  find  her,  and  had  failed  in  his 
efforts  because  he  feared,  I  imagine,  to  call 
suspicion  on  himself  after  so  many  years  by  a 
too  zealous  search.  The  matter  stands  as  he 
left  it.  Beau,  if  he  were  left  to  his  own  fol- 
lowings,  might  fail  to  see  his  obligations  to 
carry  out  these  bequests.  But  everything  was 
left  to  his  mother,  and  she  is  a  person  of  de- 
termined character.  I  believe  she  applies  every 
cent  she  can  lay  hands  on  to  the  furtherance 
of  the  search  for  Conner's  sister,  who.  Beau 
tells  me,  is  supposed  to  have  gone  West  about 
the  time  of  her  brother's  death.  Meanwhile 
Beau  is  too  occupied  with  Alexa  to  have  any 
determinate  ideas  about  anything  else."  And 
the  doctor,  pausing,  lifted  to  his  shoulder  a 
very  little  girl  who  had  run  towards  him  from 
across  the  deck.  This  small  person  observed 
Dillon  shyly  with  a  pair  of  brown  eyes  which 
glimmered  from  beneath  the  frill  of  a  white 
garden  hat  in  a  particularly  coy  manner. 

"  This,"  explained  Taliaferro,  *'  is  Miss  Co- 
rinne  Morrow,  a  friend  of  whose  devotion  I 
have  long  assured  myself. — Corinne,  if  you  like 


84  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

to  be  polite  to  Mr.  Dillon  I  think  I  can  stand 
it.  You  may  shake  hands  with  him  if  you 
think  well  of  it."  Corinne  looked  first  at  her 
bare,  dimpled  knees ;  then  she  inspected  her 
old-fashioned,  single-strapped  slippers. 

"Won't  you  come  and  shoAV  me  about  the 
boat  ?"  insinuated  Dillon.  "  I  should  be  very 
grateful.'' 

"  You  do  not  hear  the  enchanter's  voice,  do 
you,  Corinne  ?"  asked  Taliaferro.  "  I  am  sorry, 
Mr.  Dillon.  But  you  see  how  fully  the  as- 
persed constancy  of  her  sex  is  vindicated  in 
Corinne." 

"  I  am  very  lonesome,"  sighed  Dillon,  touch- 
ing Corinne's  light  hair.  "  I  shall  probably 
get  lost  or  fall  overboard  or  something,  unless 
some  one  looks  after  me." 

"  No  use,"  cried  the  doctor,  gayly  ;  but  he 
fetched  up  rather  suddenly,  for  Corinne  had 
begun  to  twist  and  Avriggle  in  her  seat  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  Lem  me  go  !"  she  whispered,  loudly.  "  You 
won't  get  hurt  or  nothing  if  I  go.  But  he's 
strange.     He  needs  me  more  'n  you." 

"  Go,  traitress  !"  Taliaferro  resigned  her 
in  feigned  displeasure.  "  Go,  then,  false  one," 
he  said. 

Above  his  voice  and  Dillon's  triumphant  ex- 
clamation broke  just  now  a  clear,  sweet  clang 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  85 

of  rushing  water,  and  ahead  of  the  prow  there 
flashed  in  sight  a  bubbling,  breaking  reach  of 
green -and -white  ripples,  that  flecked  the  air 
above  the  sharp  rocks  with  wisps  of  spray  and 
tufts  of  foam. 

The  boat  seemed  to  be  lessening  in  speed; 
then  two  brawny  negroes,  whose  wet  legs  shone 
like  new  bronze,  could  be  seen  wading  ashore, 
burdened  with  heavy  coils  of  rope.  These 
long  hempen  strands  they  fastened  about  posts 
on  the  rising  banks,  by  way  of  aiding  the  steamer 
through  the  shallows,  and,  as  the  stones  of  the 
river-bed  bit  and  nibbled  at  the  hull,  the  whis- 
tle blew  shrilly  for  a  landing,  and  above,  on  a 
green  hill-side,  a  solitary  house  of  bleached 
logs  crept  in  view.  Below  it  a  miserable  field, 
Aveedy  with  a  foot-high  sprout,  sloped  to  the 
water-side,  where  three  stray  oak  ties,  patrolled 
by  a  frog  and  a  man  in  butternut  jeans,  made 
a  landing  for  the  steamer.  A  barrel  of  mo- 
lasses was  consigned  to  the  charge  of  these 
functionaries,  and  the  Daniel  Boone  grated 
round  again  into  mid-stream. 

Always  the  extreme  bending  of  the  river's 
course  gave  the  view  the  look  of  a  lake  forever 
moving  onward  and  changing  the  aspect  of 
its  shore,  while  it  kept  its  pool-like  oval  unim- 
paired. In  the  clear  bosom  of  these  depths  a 
succession  of  great  clouds  plunged  their  puffy 


88  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

white  shoulders ;  in  shadowy  places  along  the 
banks  thick  flakes  of  corky  spume  floated ;  and 
hundreds  of  airy  insects,  dipping  and  spinning 
on  the  still  surface,  sent  innumerable  concen- 
trics  whirling  to  the  boat^s  edge.  Sometimes 
the  trees  of  the  slopes  grew  so  near  the  stream 
that  their  leaning  lower  branches  were  enam- 
elled in  a  dry  glaze  of  white  mud,  and  reached 
over  the  water  a  frosty  filigree,  hard  as  jade. 
And  everywhere  the  foliage  of  the  crests  along 
the  river  flung  upon  the  blue  skies  a  green  as 
delicate  and  intangible  as  if  scattered  there 
with  a  handful  of  soft  chalks,  crumbling  to  the 
breath. 

Dillon,  with  a  word  of  commiseration  for 
Taliaferro's  discomfiture,  followed  Corinne  for- 
ward. A  clatter  of  dishes  was  rising  from  be- 
low, the  throng  of  women  had  considerably 
thinned,  and  preparations  for  luncheon  were 
apparently  forward.  Under  the  big  illumi- 
nator Mr.  Burkely  was  seated  in  what  seemed 
to  be  a  very  animated  conversation  with  two 
ladies.  Both,  Dillon  saw,  wore  gowns  of  thin 
white.  The  older  was  noticeably  abundant  in 
her  matronly  outlines,  and  had  a  soft,  flushing 
cheek  and  a  drooping,  sentiment-suggesting 
profile.  She  attended  to  Mr.  Burkely  with 
many  little  sympathetic  inclinations  of  her  full 
throat  and  with  occasional  small,  cooing  sighs. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  87 

which  perceptibly  lifted  the  bosom  and  seemed 
even  to  stir  the  gloss  of  auburn  hair  along  the 
brows. 

"  My  mamma,"  said  Corinne,  pointing. 

"  Yes  ?"  acquiesced  Dillon ;  and  as  the  child, 
taking  his  hand,  began  to  draw  him  towards  the 
group,  he  said,  "  We  won't  go  over  there  just 
now.     They  are  busy  talking." 

Corinne's  flower-like  lips  fell  apart  as  she 
looked  up  at  him.  ''  Don't  you  want  to  talk 
to  Lucy  ?"  she  propounded,  in  an  amazed  ac- 
cent.    "Doctor  always  wants  to." 

Dillon  began  to  smile.  "  I  don't  know 
Lucy,  you  see,"  he  explained,  with  a  glance 
towards  the  slighter  of  the  two  white-gowned 
figures  near  his  uncle.  It  happened  that  Lucy 
— if  this  young  woman  were  she  —  sat  with 
head  averted,  so  that  he  could  not  very  wejl 
judge  what  she  was  like.  He  could  see  only 
the  line  of  a  beautifully  pale  cheek  and  the 
rim  of  an  ear  half  hidden  in  loosely  worn,  per- 
fectly straight  hair,  shining  and  light. 

"I  know  how  to  interduce,"  specified  Co- 
rinne,  with  all  the  dignity  of  her  four  years. 
But  Dillon  said,  frowning  a  little,  ''  Another 
time."  He  was  lost  in  a  momentary  wonder  as 
to  whether  any  subject  other  than  himself 
could  be  inspiring  his  uncle's  talk  with  so 
vivid  a  note  of  interest. 


38  BOUND  IN  SHAIvLOWS 

"It  is  more  than  kind  of  you,"  Mr.  Burkely 
indeed  was  saying,  "  to  promise  to  make  my 
boy  feel  at  home  in  Streamlet.  I — I  hoped 
you  would  be  good  to  him."  And  he  added,  in 
a  sudden,  impulsive  way,  "  He  needs  such  in- 
fluences. He  has  —  Mrs.  Morrow,  I  feel  as  if 
I  ought  to  tell  you  that  he  has  been  a  little 
wild.  Only  a  baby  when  he  came  to  me,  poor 
little  chap.     I  did  all  I  could  to  spoil  him." 

Mrs.  Morrow  expanded  in  a  gentle  sigh. 
"Nothing  touches  me  like  the  sight  of  one 
who  is  motherless,"  she  said.  "  Lucy  was  only 
ten  years  old  when  I  first  saw  her  in  her  little 
black  frock,  and  I  shall  never  forget  my  sensa- 
tions. Lucy,  dear,  do  you  recall  how  I  wept  on 
the  day  when  your  papa  brought  me  home  and 
you  ran  to  meet  us  and  kissed  me  first  ? — little 
tiiin  thing  that  you  were  !" 

"Ah,"  broke  in  Mr.  Burkely,  as  she  paused, 
"  if  my  boy  had  only  known  something  better 
than  an  old  man^s  indulgence  !  What  most  dis- 
courages me,  Mrs.  Morrow,  is  his  depression. 
He  broods  continually  over  the  fact  that  he  has 
wasted  his  powers  and  opportunities  and  de- 
feated my  hopes.  He  needs  spirit,  sympathy — " 

"  I  understand  —  a  refined,  sensitive  nat- 
ure. I  shall  feel  it  a  blessed  privilege  to  do 
everything  I  can  to  inspire  him  with  new 
ambitions.     I  have  often  felt  that  there  is  no 


BOmrD  IK  SHALLOWS  89 

more  noble  office  in  life  than  to  sustain  the 
weak  and  strengthen  those  that  falter." 

Mr.  Burkely  had  risen  in  listening  to  her 
fluttering  voice.  He  felt  some  gratification  to 
think  that  without  prejudicing  Mrs.  MorroAV 
against  his  nephew,  he  had  honorably  suggest- 
ed all  that  blemished  the  young  man's  past. 
There  was  with  him  no  suspicion  that  the 
vague  atmosphere  of  sin  and  suffering  in 
which  he  had  invested  Dillon  might  have  the 
effect  of  heightening  his  interest  as  no  nar- 
ration of  an  entirely  moral  and  catechism  fla- 
vor could  do.  Without  formulating  it  directly, 
the  old  man  had  been  sure  that  Mrs.  Morrow 
could  be  relied  on  to  see  his  nephew's  case 
in  a  benevolent  aspect.  He  had  felt  that  Dil- 
lon's deserts  would  not  concern  her  so  much 
as  the  features  of  her  own  Christian  duty.  She 
would,  in  the  simple  graciousness  of  her  heart, 
put  charity  in  the  seat  of  judgment,  and  to  the 
utmost  replace  with  pure  generosity  whatever 
hinted  at  justice.  Mr.  Burkely  had  indeed 
reckoned  so  correctly  upon  the  intimations  of 
Mrs.  Morrow's  mild  face  that  a  contenting 
sense  of  his  own  penetration  mingled  itself 
with  his  pleasure  in  her  words.  And  as  he 
spoke  to  her  of  his  gratification,  telling  her  how 
his  heart  was  lightened  in  having  secured  for 
his  nephew  her  own  and  her  daughter's  kind- 


40  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

ness,  it  came  upon  liim  rather  forcibly  that 
Miss  Morrow  had  not  said  anything  to  lead 
him  to  rely  upon  her  good-will  in  the  case  in 
question.  She  had  not  spoken  at  all ;  and  he 
grew  suddenly  fearful  that  her  silence,  which 
he  had  noted  only  as  a  proper  and  maidenly 
abstinence  from  the  speech  of  her  elders,  might 
have  been  calmly  critical,  after  the  habit  of 
the  modern  young  woman,  of  whom  he  knew 
nothing  except  that  she  was  said  to  be  infi- 
nitely more  sagacious  than  the  girls  of  his 
own  youth. 

In  his  startled  glance,  Lucy's  eyes,  which  had 
both  brown  and  gray  in  their  clear,  agate-like 
depths,  were  rather  disquieting  in  the  simple 
directness  of  their  gaze.  That  level  look  sug- 
gested that  this  slight  young  person  in  the  wide 
leghorn  hat  might,  in  an  unpleasant  modern 
way,  be  capable  of  some  elementary  delibera- 
tions as  to  the  final  results  of  shielding  men 
from  the  effects  of  their  misdoings.  Undoubt- 
edly there  was  a  hint  of  severity  in  Lucy's  face, 
a  mere  structural  note,  which,  though  barely 
intimated,  gave  it  such  definiteness  and  direc- 
tion as  the  branch  of  a  flowering  tree  gives  to 
the  fragile  blossoms  covering  it.  Mr.  Burkely, 
taking  apprehensive  stock  of  this  trait,  heard, 
as  from  a  distance,  the  soft  reiterations  of  Mrs. 
Morrow's  sympathy. 


BOUKD  U(  SHALLOWS  41 

''  Are  we  not  all  weak  and  erring  ?"  she  was 
inquiring  of  him.  ''  We,  with  our  faults,  what 
are  we  that  we  should  look  narrowly  into  the 
ways  of  our  brother?  Your  nephew,  Mr. 
Burkely— can  that  be  he  who  is  walking  yon- 
der with  my  little  Corinne  ?" 

Mr.  Burkely  focused  his  eyes  on  Dillon's 
back.  "Yes,  that  is  he  standing  near  Dr. 
Taliaferro.     If  I  might  bring  him  to  you — " 

"  Do  so,"  said  Mrs.  Morrow,  palpitating  with 
easy  benevolence.  **  Lucy,  have  you  seen  Dr. 
Taliaferro  ?" 

Lucy  looked  up,  smiling  in  response  to  Ta- 
liaferro's greeting ;  and  as  she  did  so  she  saw 
beside  him  a  young  man,  tall,  slender,  leaning 
a  little  at  the  shoulders.  He  looked  gentle  and 
sad,  and  she  was  conscious  of  wondering  that 
gentleness  and  sadness  should  be  so  markedly 
characteristic  of  a  man  given  to  prodigalities 
of  any  sort.  The  curiosity  which  Mr.  Burke- 
ly*s  indeterminate  disclosure  had  aroused  in 
her  began  to  be  a  little  touched  with  pity  as 
she  observed  Dillon's  pallor  and  air  of  weari- 
ness. And  as  she  sat  in  the  low  deck-chair 
with  her  hands  crossed  in  her  white  lap,  and 
this  expression  of  half-compassionate  wonder 
on  her  face,  an  air  so  youthful,  so  child-like 
encompassed  her  that  Mr.  Burkely,  observing 
it,  forgot  his  earlier  impressions  in  a  sudden 


48  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

qualm.  He-drew  his  shaggy  white  brows  down. 
If  this  girl  had  been  his  own  daughter  would 
he  have  wished  her  to  do  for  Dillon,  or  such  as 
Dillon,  what  he  had  just  asked  her  to  do  ?  Was 
there  nothing  polluting  for  her  in  such  associ- 
ations of  friendliness  as  he  himself  was  plan- 
ning for  her  ?  Had  he  been  entirely  right  in 
sketching  Dillon's  tale  in  colors  so  misty  ? 

He  felt  himself  trembling,  with  an  actual 
weakening  of  the  joints,  and  a  dull  color  man- 
tling his  cheek-bones.  Even  yet  he  did  not 
mean  to  speak,  to  undo  what  he  had  done,  and 
turn  from  Dillon's  lips  a  cup  that  might  per- 
haps have  life  in  its  draught.  He  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  trying  to  be  silent ;  but  despite 
these  efforts  to  collect  and  calm  himself,  he  be- 
came aware  that  he  had  drawn  a  step  closer  to 
Mrs.  Morrow,  and  was  stammering,  "  I  should 
have  said  more  than  I  did  .  .  .  more  ;  I  should 
have  told  you  .  .  .  something  more  ..." 


IV 


Lucy  herself  had  a  not  unreasonable  sur- 
prise at  Mr.  Burkely's  words  and  manner.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  take,  in  their  simplest  im- 
port, the  old  man's  sudden  confusion  and  fal- 
tering phrases.  That  he  had  been  moved  to 
vivify  his  nephew's  story  with  a  graphic  detail 
seemed  past  question,  and  Lucy,  in  a  momen- 
tary consideration  of  his  shaken  and  uncertain 
air,  began  to  think  that  perhaps  her  own  pres- 
ence might  have  kept  him  from  speaking  as 
frankly  as  upon  second  thought  he  felt  that  he 
should  have  spoken. 

She  rose  rather  hurriedly.  She  did  not  fancy 
that  she  was  at  all  likely  to  be  horrified  by  any- 
thing which  Mr.  Burkely  might  wish  to  divulge 
concerning  the  spiritless-looking  young  man 
standing  hard  by ;  her  instinct  was  altogether 
one  of  sympathy  with  the  struggle  which  was 
80  evident  in  the  lean  face  before  her.  But  in 
the  instant  of  rising  she  saw  a  change  in  the  old 
man.    Composure  had  returned  to  him ;  he  held 


44  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

himself  erect,  and  his  thready,  bluish  lips  ceased 
trembling.  Catching  Dillon's  eye,  he  made  him 
a  little  gesture. 

"I  was  about  to  say,"  he  remarked,  turning 
again  to  Mrs.  Morrow,  "that — that  you  mustn't 
take  Dillon's  self  -  accusations  seriously  I  He 
is  particularly  hard  on  himself — particularly  so  ! 
Ah,  my  boy !  I  have  very  great  pleasure — " 
He  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  inclined 
his  shoulders  in  hurrying  through  some  form 
of  introduction,  while  Dillon  took,  with  a  kind 
of  appealing,  ingratiating  diffidence,  the  hand 
which  Mrs.  Morrow  held  to  him  in  an  excess  of 
cordiality. 

Lucy  bent  her  head  a  little  distantly,  being 
still  occupied  with  the  idea  that  Mr.  Burkely 
had  meant  to  elucidate  in  Dillon's  career  some 
point  which  he  had  finally  decided  to  leave  un- 
touched. The  matter,  however,  soon  drifted 
from  her  mind,  and  she  found  herself  presently 
in  talk  with  Taliaferro  and  Dillon,  thinking 
less  of  the  possible  defections  of  the  latter  than 
of  the  varying  waters  all  about,  and  the  sum- 
mer blueness  overhead,  swept  in  a  long,  tenu- 
ous glare  of  white. 

Just  ahead  the  Mill  Springs  landing  came  in 
sight.  At  its  verge  a  pink  skiff  reduplicated 
its  rosy  stern  in  the  still  water  that,  with  the 
approach  of  the  Daniel  Boone,  began  to  heave 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  48 

and  pulse  and  disturb  the  green  shadows  dye- 
ing the  current  along  shore.  There  followed 
the  lively  excitement  of  debarkation,  and  after- 
wards came  an  hour's  wandering  through  din- 
gles and  dells  and  deep  roadways  and  rocky 
slopes.  Upon  the  return  to  Streamlet  the  sun 
was  setting,  and  a  low  crimson  turbanned  the 
dark  uplands  and  filled  the  valley  with  a  strange 
glamour.  A  train  was  issuing  from  the  black 
arch  of  the  tunnel  which  gives  upon  the  high- 
swung  bridge  across  the  Cumberland  cliffs, 
and  the  headlight  of  its  engine  seemed  a  flut- 
tering shred  of  sunset  caught  from  the  radi- 
ance behind  the  sheer  wall  of  the  western 
bluffs. 

Taliaferro,  with  Corinne  drowsing  on  his 
shoulder,  walked  through  the  dim  bottoms  in 
Lucy's  company.  It  Avas  very  quiet  in  the 
curbless  streets.  In  the  post-office  a  light 
burned,  and  a  few  loungers  smoked  on  the  steps 
of  the  different  stores.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill 
a  little  group  of  people  had  stopped  to  rest  a 
moment  before  the  climb ;  and  as  Lucy  and  the 
doctor  approached,  Alexa  Bohun,  leaving  the 
throng  of  tired  voyagers,  joined  them. 

"  Why,  say,"  she  began,  locking  her  arm  in 
Lucy's,  **  we're  going  to  have  a  hop  at  the 
hotel  on  Saturday — folks  from  up  the  road.  I 
thought  maybe  you'd  like  to  come  and  look 


46  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

on  ?  Of  course  you  wouldn't  wish  to  take 
part !  /  sha'n't.  Ma  wouldn't  hear  to  it," 
specified  Alexa,  who  commonly  represented  her 
mother  as  a  person  of  established  social  preju- 
dice. 

Lucy  laughed.  "  I'm  afraid  I  should  Avant 
to  take  part/'  she  said.     ''  I  love  to  dance." 

"  Sure  'nough  ?"  asked  Alexa,  heartened  at 
this  admission.  ^'Me  —  now  a  banjo  sets  me 
all  a-quiver.  You'll  come  for  certain,  then  ?" 
She  gave  Lucy's  hand  a  squeeze  and  bounded 
back  to  rejoin  the  others. 

^'Alexa  quite  forgot  to  include  you  in  her 
invitation,"  Lucy  said  to  Taliaferro,  as  she 
paused  to  loosen  the  strings  of  Corinne's  hat. 
"  There !  poor  little  soul.  She  was  half 
strangled." 

"Oh,  I'm  a  fixture  of  the  establishment," 
smiled  the  doctor.  He  stood  looking  at  Lucy 
before  him  in  the  road,  with  the  mysterious 
rosiness  of  the  afterglow  in  her  face.  Her 
broad  hat  swung  from  her  arm,  and  the  twi- 
light redness  robbed  her  parted  hair  of  its 
usual  pale  lustre.  Taliaferro's  heart  lifted. 
It  was  no  uncommon  sensation  with  him  in 
Lucy's  presence.  Every  one  in  Streamlet,  un- 
less it  were  Lucy  herself,  knew  the  trend  of 
the  young  man's  affections,  and  why  it  was 
that  with  a  choice  of  better  things  profes- 


BOUND  IX  SHALLOWS  47 

sionally  he  kept  on  staying  in  the  little  moun- 
tain town.  He  had  come  to  the  place  some- 
thing like  two  years  before  to  undertake  to  end 
the  lawless  operations  of  some  tie-makers  who 
were  working  the  timber  off  a  tract  of  land 
which  his  father  had  left  him.  And  in  the 
intervals  of  his  bouts  in  the  behalf  of  property 
rights  he  had  fallen  into  a  certain  practice  of 
his  profession.  At  first  he  had  meant  to  stay 
in  Streamlet  only  long  enough  to  get  his  affairs 
settled  before  going  abroad  for  an  extension  of 
his  studies ;  but  after  things  were  quite  ar- 
ranged, and  the  tie-makers  had  been  made  to 
leave  off  their  depredations,  and  all  was  as  it 
should  be,  Taliaferro  became  aware  that  his 
desire  for  travel  had  lapsed. 

Lucy  had  come  home  from  school,  and  the 
doctor  soon  became  sufficiently  clear  regarding 
his  feelings  for  her.  As  to  Lucy's  own  senti- 
ments, there  was,  unhappily,  more  ground  of 
doubt.  She  was  always  glad,  indeed,  to  dis- 
cuss his  plans  with  him,  and  even  to  advise 
him  concerning  the  serious  matters  of  both 
life  and  medicine.  But  in  her  tranquil  friend- 
liness Taliaferro  found  nothing  reassuring,  un- 
til, upon  a  statement  to  Mrs.  Morrow  of  his 
hopes  and  fears,  he  received  from  her  certain 
encouraging  comments  and  counsels.  Mrs. 
Morrow's  abounding  emotions  and  cooing  mur- 


48  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

mnrs  and  breathless  interjections  of  sympathy 
had  perhaps  been  of  considerable  effect  in  heart- 
ening Taliaferro's  suit.  He  could  not  after- 
wards recall  just  what  she  had  said  to  cheer  him 
so  effectually,  but  he  gathered  from  her  talk 
with  him  that  he  must  be  content  to  await  de- 
velopments, and  not  be  so  rash  as  to  force  upon 
Lucy's  mind  the  startling  revelation  that  he 
loved  her.  The  solemn,  fathomless  mystery 
which  invests  the  mental  processes  of  maiden- 
hood must,  Mrs.  Morrow  pointed  out,  be  re- 
spected. And  she  added  to  her  subtle  dis- 
criminations on  this  score  the  questionable 
declaration  that  patience  and  reserve  in  a  lover 
are  infallible  aids  to  success. 

To-night,  as  the  twilight  deepened  about 
him  and  he  climbed  the  hill  with  Lucy  beside 
him,  almost  the  doctor  felt  himself  come  to 
the  force  of  words.  But  when  Lucy  turned 
to  him  in  some  remark,  her  face's  unconscious- 
ness smote  him  painfully,  and  he  drew  his 
brows  and  replied  with  a  hint  of  gruffness  in 
his  voice. 

This  brusque  tone  of  his  and  the  embarrass- 
ment of  feeling  which  made  him  appear  stolid 
and  silent  as  they  Avalked  home  together  re- 
curred to  Lucy  upon  the  following  night.  Mr. 
Burkely  and  his  nephew  had  come  to  pay  their 
respects  to  the  Major's  family,  and  when,  in 


BOUND  m  SHALLOWS  49 

the  course  of  the  evening  some  one  spoke  of 
Taliaferro,  Mr.  Burkely  said :  '*  Mr.  Dunbar 
expatiates  upon  this  young  man's  qualities.  I 
haven't  the  least  doubt  that  the  doctor  is  a 
fine  fellow,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  he  lacks — 
er — manner,  you  know."  Dillon  had  scarcely 
spoken.  He  sat,  with  his  usual  air  of  languor, 
in  a  corner  of  the  pretty  room,  passively  aware 
of  the  summer  lightness  of  the  wicker  chairs 
and  pale  rugs,  and  the  breath  of  the  long- 
stemmed  roses  in  a  great  bowl  in  the  window- 
seat.  But  as  his  uncle  paused,  with  a  ques- 
tioning glance  as  for  corroboration  in  his  opin- 
ion, Dillon  moved  a  little. 

"I  should  think," he  said,  "that  Taliaferro 
had  the  best  possible  manner  for  a  physician 
— one  which  inspires  immediate  confidence." 
Lucy  looked  visibly  pleased.  Dillon's  remark 
established  him  in  her  mind  as  a  person  of 
fairness  and  penetration,  and  she  was  sensi- 
ble of  regretting  that  such  a  one  should  be 
so  openly  wearied  with  the  evening's  events 
as  Mr.  Dillon  appeared. 

Dillon  was,  in  fact,  thinking  of  the  charms  of 
the  rose-hedged  walk  outside  and  the  pungent 
odors  of  a  cigar.  His  uncle's  incessant  liveli- 
ness irritated  him,  nor  did  he  find  Mrs.  Mor- 
row's lavish  amiability  satisfying,  nor  Lucy's 
slight  presence  and  dreamy  silence  in  the  least 


60  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

interesting.  Major  Morrow  himself  maintained 
the  ponderous  quietude  which  had  won  him 
his  repute  for  extraordinary  dignity  and  intel- 
ligence. He  was  an  immovable-looking  man, 
whose  iron-gray  eyes  bulged  as  if  the  harden- 
ing of  the  rubicund  flesh  about  them  had 
pushed  them  from  their  sockets.  He  had  a 
military  fashion  of  gray  mustache,  and  a  habit 
of  patting  his  knee  and  sealing  his  lips  in  a 
way  to  suggest  deep  deliberations.  Whatever 
these  might  be,  the  Major  seldom  committed 
himself  to  speech.  He  spent  his  days  in  medi- 
tation ;  business  affairs  and  the  Major  had 
nothing  in  common.  He  had,  indeed,  some 
sort  of  silent  partnership  in  a  pulp  factory 
below  the  hill ;  but  war  had  been  his  first  ac- 
tive interest  in  life,  and  nothing  had  replaced 
it  for  him. 

"Major  hain't  no  fancy  sojer,"  old  Halifax 
Burns  would  say,  as  the  Major  stalked  majes- 
tically up  the  post-office  steps  every  morning  at 
ten  of  the  clock.  "  He  fit  mighty  brash  down 
yender  in  Tennes&j.  Charged  onct  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, they  tell.  He  hain't  no  wounds  into 
his  back.  Major  hain't !  And  now  that  the 
Dimmycrats  hes  got  in,  through  the  grace  of 
God,  y'all  needn't  be  surprised  to  see  'em  put 
Major  into  position  and  pay  him  big  money." 

Dillon  knew  nothing  of  Major  Morrow's  prow- 


BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS  61 

ess,  and  the  Major's  monosyllabic  conversation 
did  not  hold  the  young  man's  fancy.  He  ex- 
perienced a  deep  relief  when  Mr.  Burkely  finally 
rose,  and  this  was  furthered  as  they  emerged 
from  the  rose -hedged  garden  upon  a  moon- 
lighted sweep  of  turf.  At  their  feet  the  cliff 
sheered  abruptly  to  the  railway.  To  the  west 
the  Cumberland  bridge  swung  like  a  ribbon  of 
white  satin,  caught  in  the  tangled  black  leaf- 
age of  the  tunnel's  month.  Along  the  brow  of 
the  bluff  little  depressions  showed  where  the 
rifle  pits  and  batteries  of  General  Burnside  had 
been  long  before.  About  the  unlighted  town 
the  heights  were  drawn  like  heavy  curtains. 
Back  from  the  bluff  the  few  houses  of  the  hill 
folk  nestled  in  their  checkered  garden  spaces. 
Through  the  panes  of  one  the  engineer's  wife 
could  be  seen  rocking  her  baby.  In  the  door 
of  a  gabled  white  cottage  the  preacher's  aging 
figure  revealed  itself  upon  the  inner  light. 

On  the  station  platform  a  brakesman  sat 
winding  a  strip  of  red  flannel  about  his  lan- 
tern, and  the  scarlet  rays  fell  upon  a  number 
of  men  lounging  against  the  wall.  Behind  the 
iron  bars  of  the  station  window  the  agent  sat 
on  a  high  stool,  posting  his  accounts.  Dunbar 
was  coming  up  the  hill,  and  as  Mr.  Burkely 
and  Dillon  rounded  the  platform  a  woman  in 
a  trailing  cotton  frock,  bareheaded,  and  with  a 


52  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

heavy  child  in  her  arms,  came  in  sight,  stop- 
ping along  the  tracks  from  tie  to  tie.  She  was 
young,  and  her  pink-and-white  face  had  the 
dulness  that  knows  neither  honor  nor  shame. 
Tripping  in  her  long  skirts,  she  stumbled  on 
into  the  darkness. 

"  Poor  soul,"  remarked  Bohun,  rising  from 
a  freight  truck.  "Eh?  Why,  it's  Lete  Haight, 
the  woman  that  lives  under  the  trestle.  Eh? 
Oh,  I  reckon  there's  no  use  in  denyin'  that  she's 
triflin'.  Only  the  age  of  my  Elex,  poor  soul ! 
Her  mother  was  a  headstrong,  mean-inclined 
critter,  but  she  was  tol'able  well-favored,  and 
Duke  Haight  he  must  go  to  work  and  marry 
her.  Nice,  steady  feller  he  was.  He  knowed 
she'd  change  her  ways  and  make  him  a  fine 
wife.  And  she  did  !  She  made  him  a  fine 
one — kept  him  in  misery  with  her  doings  till 
he  died.  This  Lete's  their  gyrl.  After  her 
folks  died  she  took  to  wanderin'  round.  She's 
never  hed  no  encouragement  to  hold  her  head 
up.  Well,  Duke  Haight  had  good  intentions. 
Only  he  didn't  'pear  to  understand  that  you 
can't  stop  bad  wood  from  rotting  by  bracing  it 
up  with  sound  timber.  The  sound  timber  '11 
rot,  that's  all  that  '11  happen." 

**Good  intentions,"  said  Mr.Burkely,  senten- 
tiously,  "often  contain  a  good  deal  of  latent 
mischief." 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  68 

Dunbar  was  mopping  off  his  forehead. 
"Well,"  he  speculated,  "I  reckon  that's  so. 
Altruism,  as  our  friend  Spencer  justly  remarks, 
is  a  blessed  thing  up  to  a  certain  point ;  but 
beyond  that  point  it's  a  curse  to  giver  and  re- 
ceiver. Mr.  Haight's  proceeding  seems  to  lie 
beyond  the  line  of  mutual  blessing." 


In  Alexa's  room,  high  in  one  of  the  shingled 
towers,  two  oil  lamps  burned  brightly,  burnish- 
ing the  railway  maps  and  soap  advertisements 
which  decorated  the  white  walls.  An  ingrain 
carpet,  compounded  of  strips  of  varying  de- 
signs, spread  its  lengths  along  the  floor.  The 
high  bed,  draped  in  a  homespun  coverlet,  had 
an  obvious  effect  of  graining  combed  in  brown 
paint  over  its  yellow  foot -board.  A  folded 
newspaper  covered  the  wash-stand,  and  the 
wavy  mirror  of  the  tall  bureau  was  sustained 
in  an  oblique  position  by  means  of  an  inthrust 
hair-brush. 

A  pile  of  ruffled  petticoats  heaped  the  bed. 
Alexa's  frock,  a  flowery  heap  of  pink  muslin, 
lay  across  a  chair.  Alexa  herself,  with  her 
black  hair  about  her  shoulders,  and  a  flush  of 
excitement  staining  the  pellucid  brown  of  her 
cheeks,  stood  testing  the  heat  of  the  curling- 
irons  she  had  just  taken  from  the  globe  of  a 
lamp. 


BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS  S5 

"You're  going  to  look  mighty  sweet,"  said 
Mrs.  Bohun,  who  sat  in  a  limp  huddle  near  the 
door,  watching  her  daughter  twist  a  strand  of 
hair  about  the  tongs. 

**  What  are  they  all  doing  down-stairs,  ma  ?" 

"Dressin'  and  primpin',"  responded  her 
mother.  *'  The  gyrls  all  packed  along  their 
gownds  in  bandboxes,  and  they're  skirmishin* 
through  the  halls  a-lacin'  and  hookin'  each 
other,  and  callin'  for  pins  and  whitenin',  and 
going  on  till  Kitty  and  Sa'  Jane  hain't  a  mite 
of  sense.  The  gents  is  blackin'  their  boots  and 
puttin'  on  clean  collars.  Kowin'  on  the  river 
like  they  been  since  they  got  off  the  train  has 
sweated  'em  out,  I  reckon.  I  won't  say  as  any 
of  'em  has  toted  a  flask  along,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Bohun,  with  an  air  of  rigorous  moral  accuracy, 
"  but  it  'peared  to  me  like  I  caught  a  whiff  of 
Belle  of  Nelson  as  I  came  past  the  room  where 
the  men  are  at.  Or  it  might  'a'  been  Old 
Crow  or  even  Buck  Creek.  God  knows.  The 
music  is  eating  a  sandwich  off  the  kitchen 
table,  and  your  paw  is  packing  chairs  and  ta- 
bles out  of  the  dining-room  so's  dancing  can 
begin." 

Alexa  warily  drew  the  iron  from  a  tubular 
ringlet.     "  Mr.  Dillon — is  he — " 

"Mr.  Dillon's  on  the  porch  with  his  heels 
agin  a  post  and  his  hat  into  his  eyes,  smoking. 


56  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

like  he  always  is.  Looks  like  he's  lower  sper- 
eted  than  ever  since  his  uncle  went  away  for 
good.  •  I  feel  kind  of  sorry  for  him,  Elex.  Fd 
of  put  a  nice  clean  newspaper  on  to  his  wash- 
stand  to-day  to  sort  of  make  his  room  more 
home-like,  only  I  just  says  to  myse%  'If  I  do, 
why,  like  as  not  he'll  splash  around,  cleanin' 
up  for  the  hop,  and  soak  it  to  a  pulp.'  There's 
your  paw  callin'  me."  And  having  answered 
**  Whoo  !"  in  a  loud  voice,  Mrs.  Bohun  dragged 
her  festal  black  cashmere  from  the  room. 

Down  in  the  office  a  dozen  or  more  young 
men  were  gathered.  Some  of  them  revealed 
themselves  as  brakesmen  by  the  slight  swaying 
of  their  gait  in  crossing  the  pillared  expanse. 
A  conductor  or  two  and  an  engineer  were 
among  the  loiterers  on  the  porch  who,  in  a 
smoke  -  encircled  group,  were  listening  to  a 
story  involving  prodigious  presence  of  mind 
and  a  surpassing  mastery  of  the  throttle. 
Fragments  of  the  tale,  interspersed  with  com- 
ments of  different  sorts,  floated  to  the  piazza 
end  in  which  Taliaferro  and  Dillon  and  others 
of  the  hotel's  usual  dwellers  sat  together  under 
the  hanging  vines,  which,  struck  here  and  there 
with  flashes  of  light  from  the  office  doors  and 
windows,  seemed  heavy  with  mysterious  clus- 
ters of  vague  white  flowers.  The  tentative  rasp 
of  a  violin  bow  and  the  lisp  of  a  banjo  string 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  87 

came  from  the  dining-room,  which  was  bare  of 
its  usual  furnishings,  and  showed  unbroken 
stretches  of  pale-green,  mildew-blotched  wall. 
Mr.  Bohun,  with  his  conical  hat  awry  and  an 
expression  of  excited  interest  in  his  great  black- 
and-white  beard,  pervaded  the  apartment,  is- 
suing loud  orders  to  the  small  negro  boy  who 
filled  the  offices  of  bell-boy,  waiter,  and  porter 
in  the  hotel. 

Presently  the  strains  of  a  waltz  welled  from 
the  table  on  which  the  three  black  musicians 
sat,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  empty  spaces 
were  roused  with  a  whir  of  muslins,  a  rap  of 
heels,  a  confusion  of  voices  and  laughter. 

People  were  also  beginning  now  to  come  by 
twos  and  threes  up  the  hotel  path,  scattering 
along  the  porch  and  stationing  themselves  out- 
side the  window  which  commanded  a  view  of 
the  festivities.  The  engineer's  wife,  with  her 
blond  young  face;  the  preacher's  niece,  old- 
maidish  and  overcome  with  spasms  of  giddiness 
at  the  gayety  of  the  music ;  the  school-master, 
large  and  soft  and  serene,  with  his  dark  little 
wife  on  his  arm — these  and  others  of  the  hill 
folk  thronged  the  outer  ways,  and  were  finally 
persuaded  to  enter  and  seat  themselves  in  a  re- 
served and  exclusive  row  of  chairs  sequestered 
near  the  kitchen  door. 

Alexa,  with  a  rosy  fillet  through  her  hair. 


88  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

was  essaying  a  few  reluctant  steps  with  Beau- 
regard McBeath,  whose  long,  light  frock-coat 
rendered  a  trifle  more  conspicuous  the  awk- 
wardness of  his  efforts. 

"After  seeing  Beauregard  dance  I  am  in- 
clined to  sympathize  with  Alexa's  coolness," 
said  Taliaferro,  looking  in  from  the  doorway. 
And  as  Alexa  turned  at  length  from  her  part- 
ner with  a  disdaining  lift  of  lips,  the  doctor 
drew  the  unhappy  young  man  aside  and  soothed 
him  in  such  sort  as  he  was  able. 

"  I  don't  know  but  I'd  be  as  well  off  to  go 
and  throw  myself  in  Fishing  Creek,"  remarked 
McBeath,  accepting  a  cigar.  "  I  took  six  les- 
sons in  dancing  last  winter;  the  fellow  said  I 
had  it  down  fine.  Yes ;  he  told  me  my  waltz- 
ing was  out  of  sight.  But  Alexa  won't  have 
it  that  way.  She  says  I  move  like  my  feet 
was  weighted  for  a  trotting  gait.  Sometimes, 
doc,  I  think  I  better  give  up.  It  certainly 
don't  look  as  if  things  'd  ever  come  my  way !" 
McBeath  paused,  experimentally,  but  Taliaferro 
did  not  attempt  to  combat  this  view.  "Yet," 
pursued  Alexa's  suitor,  after  a  moment,  in 
which  his  hopes  seemed  to  reach  their  lowest 
level  and  begin  to  rise  again,  "Alexa  often 
lets  me  tell  her  how  much  I  think  of  her  and 
the  kind  of  a  house  I  aim  to  build  when  that 
walnut  tract  of  ours  gets  settled.     Tell  you. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  69 

if  'twasn't  for  that  sister  of  Conner's  Fd  be 
fixed.  Fd  put  me  up  a  stylish  house,  and 
Alexa  'd  quit  doing  like  she  does/' 

"How  do  things  stand  about  the  Conner 
heirs,  Mac  ?" 

"  Oh,  same  as  common.  Old  Judge  Kinney, 
he  does  our  lawing,  you  know.  He  was  down 
several  months  ago,  and  I  was  plumb  sure  he'd 
come  to  say  we  was  free  to  sell  the  wood  any 
day.  He  looked  like  he  fetched  news ;  but  af- 
ter I'd  put  his  horse  up  and  came  back  to  the 
house  I  found  him  and  maw  talking  about  the 
crops  and  never  a  word  of  no  Maria  Conner. 
*  News,  Judge  ?'  says  I.  And  my  mother — you 
know  how  quick  spoken  she  is — says  she,  '  When 
the  Judge  has  news  it  '11  be  for  my  ears.  Beau, 
before  yourn.'  So  there  'tis.  When  the  Judge 
was  leaving  I  says  to  him,  *  Do  you  reckon  that 
Conner's  sister's  really  alive  ?'  And  he  shut  his 
eyes  critical,  and  says  he,  *  There  certainly  was 
a  Maria  Conner  that  kept  a  boarding-house  in 
Butte  City  a  year  ago.  She  moved  to  the  foot- 
hills som'er's,'  says  he,  '  and  when  I  hear  from 
her  I'll  let  you  know.'" 

Taliaferro  was  conscious  of  a  divided  inter- 
est. At  the  gate  was  a  flutter  of  airy  white  and 
a  mingling  of  tones;  and  presently  Major  Mor- 
row and  his  wife  came  in  view  in  the  path. 
Taliaferro  looked  for  Lucy,  but  Lucy  seemed 


60  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

to  have  stopped  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
gate,  for  her  voice  came  clearly  to  him.  Very 
soon  he  saw  her  emerging  from  the  dusk,  mov- 
ing slowly  towards  the  house,  and  holding  her 
light  skirts  from  contact  with  the  dewy  grasses 
by  the  way.  Dillon  was  beside  her.  He  was 
smiling  as  he  listened  to  what  she  was  saying, 
and  his  face  wore  a  look  of  interest  and  amuse- 
ment. In  the  wide  wash  of  light  from  the  door 
they  paused,  and  Lucy's  face,  the  shine  of  her 
hair,  and  the  transparent  whiteness  of  her  broad 
sleeves  appeared  to  be  themselves  luminous. 

Beyond  her  Dillon's  slightly  bent  shoulders 
and  fine,  pensive  profile  were  impressed  upon 
the  darkness.  He  seemed  to  be  calling  her  at- 
tention to  a  game  of  croquet  in  progress  under 
the  beeches,  whose  spreading  lower  branches 
were  dusted  in  silver  from  the  light  of  two 
lanterns.  Lucy  turned  to  look ;  then  she  and 
Dillon  strolled  towards  the  croquet-ground, 
and  Taliaferro's  mind  again  opened  to  the  rela- 
tion of  McBeath's  complaints. 

The  players  were  all  elderly  men,  who,  in 
shirt-sleeves,  with  handkerchiefs  about  their 
necks  and  expressions  of  laborious  concern  on 
their  grizzled  faces,  pursued  the  game  with 
feverish  intensity.  Now  and  again  one  of  them 
stumbled  over  a  wicket,  or  rushed  into  the 
darkness  after  his  ball,  or  held  a  lantern  while 


BOmn)  IN  SHALLOWS  01 

his  partner  executed  some  subtle  stroke.  Often 
a  clatter  of  disagreement  arose,  and  the  heat- 
ed utterance,  mingling  with  the  sharp  rattle  of 
the  mallets,  sounded  above  the  music  in-doors 
and  the  hollow  clang  of  footsteps  on  the  porch. 

"  I  suppose  your  uncle  has  gone?"  said  Lucy, 
in  a  peaceable  interval  of  the  game. 

"Yes,"  answered  Dillon ;  and  he  added,  sim- 
ply, "I  miss  him." 

Lucy  regarded  him  for  an  instant,  think- 
ing how  worn  he  looked  in  the  lantern  rays. 
"We  have  promised  to  keep  your  spirits  up," 
she  smiled,  finally.  "And  yet  when  I  consider 
how  we  are  going  to  do  this,  I  begin  to  think 
we  spoke  without  reckoning  much  upon  ways 
and  means.  We  haven't  a  great  deal  of  any- 
thing except  scenery.  And  since  you  have 
been  in  Switzerland  our  knobs  may  not  mean 
very  much  to  you.  There  is  the  cascade,  of 
course,  and  Eock  City,  a  place  of  local  celeb- 
rity two  miles  away.  Besides  these  things  I 
am  afraid  there  is  nothing.  You've  already 
been  to  Mill  Springs,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Morrow  just  now  appeared  in  the  twi- 
light region  between  the  silvered  beeches  and 
the  surrounding  circle  of  outer  darkness,  call- 
ing, "Have  you  my  fan,  Lucy  ?  I  am  breath- 
less, quite  breathless  with  the  heat  in-doors. 
What  is  that  ?    Mill  Springs  ?    I  suppose  Lucy 


62  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

is  telling  you  of  the  pretty  places  hereabouts  ? 
Dear  child,  she  is  so  fond  of  Streamlet !  And 
yet  Lucy  has  seen  considerable  of  the  world. 
She  visits  in  the  Blue  Grass,  you  know,  and  she 
spent  last  summer  at  White  Sulphur.  I  sup- 
pose she  has  told  you  about  Eock  City  ?  Lucy, 
we  must  take  Mr.  Dillon  to  see  Rock  City. 
To-morrow  is  Sunday.  Should  you  like  to  walk 
out  with  us  to-morrow  afternoon  ?  Very  well, 
then.  And  oh,  by -the -bye,  Mr.  Dillon,  it 
would  be  very  kind  in  you  to  ask  Alexa  to 
dance  with  you  to-night.  Poor  Alexa !  She 
is  looking  so  sweet,  and  she  is  almost  at  the 
point  of  tears  because  she  is  longing  to  dance 
and  yet  can't  make  up  her  mind  to  *  mix  in/  as 
she  says.'' 

They  went  to  the  house  together,  and  Dillon, 
in  accordance  with  Mrs.  Morrow's  suggestion, 
stopped  to  speak  to  Alexa.  She  was  sitting 
among  the  hill  folk,  trying  to  find  in  this  posi- 
tion a  consolation  for  the  more  active  pleasures 
which  she  desired.  Her  face  had  a  purplish 
flush,  and  her  foot  patted  the  floor  as  she 
watched  the  dancers.  When  Dillon  paused 
before  her  and  made  his  plea,  a  light  broke 
from  her  discontented  eyes,  and  she  rose,  smil- 
ing with  open  pleasure.  Alexa  danced  surpris- 
ingly well,  and  Dillon,  taking  her  back  at  length 
to  the  hill  folk's  corner,  made  some  flattering 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  63 

comment,  which  gave  her  a  pang  of  joyous 
satisfaction. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  pay  Alexa  that  little 
attention/'  murmured  Mrs.  Morrow  to  the 
young  man  as  he  leaned  over  her  chair. 

The  Major  cleared  his  throat,  remarking,  in 
his  formal  fashion :  "  Not  altogether  a  sacrifi- 
cial proceeding;  Alexa  is  grown  to  be  a  fine 
girl."  He  added,  "If  you  are  quite  ready,  my 
dear,  perhaps  we  had  better  go." 

Dillon  in  accompanying  the  Morrows  through 
the  crowded  office,  where  unknown  faces  thick- 
ened and  unfamiliar  voices  rang  in  a  waxing 
clamor,  was  aware  of  something  like  a  sense 
of  unaccountable  intimacy  with  the  Major's 
family.  In  the  general  strangeness  of  things 
his  acquaintance  with  Lucy  and  her  mother 
had  become  a  matter  of  relatively  long  stand- 
ing; the  Major's  military  back  was  already 
a  matter  of  which  Dillon's  eye  took  note  with 
an  habituated  glance ;  Mrs.  Morrow's  plump, 
tilted  chin,  and  Lucy's  brown-and-gray  eyes, 
abstracted  and  serene,  affected  him  in  an  oddly 
accustomed  way. 

"You're  not  going  to  forget  about  to- 
morrow ?"  inquired  Dillon,  as  Mrs.  Morrow's 
skirts  fluttered  down  the  hotel  steps. 

"Of  course  we  shall  not,"  Lucy  assured 
him,  looking  back.    Behind  her  a  single  young 


64  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

maple,  struck  with  a  tongue  of  lamplight,  rose 
in  the  purple  gloom  like  a  feather  of  white. 
The  steps,  too,  shone  whitely  in  the  spreading 
beams  of  the  doorway,  and  Lucy,  descending 
them,  seemed  as  if  vanishing  into  the  bloom  and 
wonder  of  a  visionary  world.  The  rising  wind 
swept  her  voice  away  indeterminately,  and 
Dillon,  standing  by  himself,  watching  the  moon 
roll  its  amber  wheel  above  the  craggy  height 
beyond,  had  a  feeling  of  illusion.  Something 
vital  seemed  to  him  to  be  stirring  again  in  his 
being.  ''It's  the  air,"  he  said,  smiling  with  a 
little  contempt.  "But  I  don't  care  much 
what  it  is  so  it  gives  me  a  kind  of  hope  that 
there  may  really  be  a  to-morrow  for  me." 


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VI 


There  was  a  Sabbath  calm  upon  the  valley. 
All  the  mill  saws  were  silent ;  the  rivers,  low  in 
their  beds,  tracked  the  bottoms  with  a  milky 
trail ;  the  store  porches  were  empty,  the  sta- 
tion platform  occupied  by  only  a  lounger  or 
two  of  so  thoroughly  established  habits  as  Hal- 
ifax Burns,  muttering  in  his  wild,  white  beard, 
and  setting  a  drunken  stare  upon  those  who 
fared  by  on  their  way  to  church. 

The  bell  was  ringing  in  a  coercive,  business- 
like way,  as  if  it  realized  the  importance  of  its 
function.  The  preacher  had  already  gone  down 
the  hill  road,  and  other  moving  figures  dotted 
the  rocky  slope  at  intervals  and  scattered  the 
fennel-fringed  ways  of  the  village. 

Lucy,  coming  along  the  cliff's  brow  with  a 
hymn-book  in  her  hand,  noticed  the  dry,  pow- 
dery effect  of  the  smoke  whiffing  from  a  cot- 
tage roof  on  the  sphinx  knoll's  slope.  Two 
women  advanced  in  the  little  garden-path  be- 
fore it,  stiff  in  Sabbath  prints;  they  shut  the 


86  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

small  gate  with  a  perfunctory  sort  of  modera- 
tion, as  if  the  rigor  of  the  day  affected  their 
movements.  On  the  South  Fork  certain  shad- 
ows, black  as  pitch,  spread  themselves  thickly. 
The  Cumberland's  broad,  sunny  reach  leaped 
along  shore  in  a  dazzle  of  delicate  green  as  the 
leafage  of  the  farther  bank  stirred  with  a  little 
wind.  In  the  deep  dead  water  at  the  meeting 
of  the  rivers  a  small  boat  skimmed  along  slow- 
ly ;  it  resembled  a  darkly  colored  fish  with  the 
effect  of  silvery  fins,  lent  it  by  the  oarsman's 
white  shirt-sleeve  and  the  reflection  of  this  in 
the  stilled  currents.  Through  the  grasses  at 
Lucy's  feet  a  yellow  butterfly  rioted  in  a  reck- 
less, devil-may-care  way,  as  if  determined  upon 
seizing  its  hour.  And  as  Lucy  laughed  to  her- 
self over  the  profligate  intimations  of  the  little 
creature  wastefully  winnowing  its  floury  wings 
in  the  June  herbage,  Taliaferro  rode  over  the 
railway  on  his  roan  mare. 

"Well,"  he  said,  drawing  up,  "I've  a  ten 
miles'  ride  in  prospect.  Yes  ;  one  of  the  Cur- 
rey  boys  has  broken  his  leg.  Worse  luck  !  I 
was  going  to  walk  witli  you  all  this  afternoon. 
Now  I  can't." 

"  But  you'll  have  a  chance  to  try  your  new 
splinter,"  Lucy  reminded  him.  "I  thought 
you  were  anxious  to  see  how  it  works  ?" 

"Oh,  I  am!"  muttered  the  doctor;  "but 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  67 

another  day  would  have  done.  Why  any  sane 
being  should  elect  to  break  his  leg  on  Sunday 
morning — " 

"  What  an  unreasonable  person  you  are  ! 
As  for  walking  with  us — why,  you've  seen  Kock 
City  any  number  of  times/' 

"Oh,  of  course  I've  seen  it — as  far  as  that 
goes." 

*'And  you've  never  seemed  to  care  much 
about  it.  I  remember  being  surprised,  when 
we  were  last  there,  that  you  should  be  so  in- 
different to  the  view.  It's  really  lovely,  you 
know  ;  but  you  hardly  noticed  it." 

Taliaferro  drew  a  quick  breath.  There  on 
the  hill's  brow  she  stood  in  her  broad  white 
hat,  holding  the  hymn-book  in  her  hands,  re- 
garding him  with  a  look  in  which  mild  sur- 
prise and  accusation  were  blended.  *^You 
have  no  aesthetic  perception,  you  know,"  she 
seemed  to  be  reminding  him — **  really  none  in 
the  world." 

"Lucy," said  Taliaferro,  a  little  huskily,  "I 
don't  think  I  am  altogether  indifferent  to  the 
beauty  of  things.  But  there  are  times  in  a 
man's  life  when  scenery  doesn't  quite  seem  to 
round  the  sum  of  existence.  When  his  whole 
mind  is  engrossed — "  He  began  to  falter. 

Lucy  had  her  widening  eyes  upon  him,  and 
suddenly,  with  an   air  of  enlightenment,  she 


68  BOITND  IN  SHALLOWS 

cried  out :  "  How  dull  I  am  !  Do  forgive  me 
for  forgetting  how  you  are  occupied  with  Avork 
and  study  and  important  things.  I  ought  to 
be  ashamed — and  I  am — to  expect  a  man  of 
affairs  to —  But  you  forgive  me,  don't  you  ?" 
She  looked  past  him,  adding  :  "  Why,  the  bell 
has  stopped  ringing  !  I  am  late."  And  with 
a  word  of  hasty  farewell  she  went  on  down  the 
road. 

Dillon,  who  was  reading  a  day-old  newspaper 
under  the  beeches,  saw  her  figure  hurrying 
along,  and  a  momentary  feeling  of  regret  came 
upon  him  in  remembering  that  he  had  definitely 
declined,  a  moment  before,  Alexa's  invitation 
to  attend  the  morning  service. 

"  You  better  come  on,"  Alexa  had  said ; 
''we  got  a  splendid  preacher.  And  you're  so 
fond  of  music  you'd  like  to  hear  the  school- 
master's wife  play  the  organ.  "We  give  her  a 
dollar  a  Sunday.  She's  great.  I'd  like  to  be  as 
strong  in  the  wrists  as  her.     Better  come  on  !" 

But  Dillon  had  not  risen  from  his  tilted 
chair,  though  he  tempered  his  refusal  with  a 
few  words  of  a  nature  as  light  and  bantering  as 
Alexa's  coquettish  manner  seemed  to  demand. 
Certainly  Alexa's  dark  eyes  were  beautiful.  It 
was  rather  a  pity,  Dillon  idly  felt,  that  she 
should  be  always  filtering  their  deep  rays 
through  demurely  lowered  lashes.     They  were 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 


infinitely  impressive  —  those  sombre  eyes  of 
Alexa^s — when,  in  a  forgetful  moment,  she  let 
the  transcendant  repose  of  vacuity  engulf  them. 

Such  moments  were,  however,  not  common 
to  Alexa  except  in  the  retirement  of  the  family- 
room  ;  and  Dillon,  finding  her  always  gay  and 
often  wearisome  by  reason  of  these  arch  humors, 
was  not  particularly  pleased  when,  upon  com- 
ing down-stairs  towards  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon, he  perceived  her  on  the  porch,  curled 
and  beribboned,  and  with  an  expectant  restless- 
ness of  gaze  under  her  hat.  Alexa  substanti- 
ated his  fears  by  rising  and  saying,  "Maybe 
we  just  as  well  walk  on  up  and  meet  them." 
And  as  Dillon  silently  nibbled  at  his  mustache 
she  added,  "  Mrs.  Morrow  said  we  better  walk 
up  and  meet  them  in  case  we  were  ready  first." 

*'Very  well,"  Dillon  said,  resigning  himself 
to  this  arrangement.  But  as  he  paced  along 
with  Alexa  he  cropped  with  his  stick  the  heads 
from  all  the  grasses  by  the  road.  Presently 
Mrs.  Morrow  and  Lucy  came  in  sight,  and  as 
Mrs.  Morrow  pushed  ahead  with  Alexa  in  some 
discussion  of  ferneries,  Dillon  found  himself  in 
Lucy's  company,  and  recovered  his  temper. 

The  way  led  behind  the  hotel  in  a  deeply 
shaded  road  which  went  in  a  broad  curve  about 
the  high  knoll  where  the  village  burying-ground 
massed  its  wood  crosses  and  picket-fences  and 


W  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

sparse  firs.  Beyond  this  were  groves  of  yonng 
trees  and  thickets  of  ragged  brush,  growing  all 
at  haphazard,  and  interspersed  with  many 
shaling  blocks  of  limestone  which,  in  their 
slanting  grayness,  resembled  forgotten  tombs, 
written  over  in  mournful  lichens  and  based  in 
topping  weeds.  About  the  grassy  headlands 
green  hills  rolled  softly,  scalloping  the  farther 
sky  in  dim  purples.  Near  by  a  gray  old  hut  or 
so  sped  a  clapboarded  roof  from  the  uncertain 
path,  and  the  sharp  angularities  of  a  snake- 
fence,  dusted  in  the  lower  bars  with  the  light 
gold  of  wild  madder,  zigzagged  the  blurring 
mixture  of  flawless  skies  and  fresh  fields. 

Continually  the  footway,  creeping  among 
the  loose  stones,  rose  and  narrowed,  sprinkled 
everywhere  with  horsemint  in  hop-like  violet 
balls,  and  with  Solomon 's-seal  in  soft  amberish 
tufts.  A  faint  wind  drifted  eastward ;  the 
summer  sky  seemed  nearer ;  a  sound  of  water 
rose,  and  just  ahead,  cleanly  parapeting  the 
unflecked  blueness,  a  gathering  of  great  rocks 
struck  along  the  view,  mossed  with  green  and 
gray,  thickly  shaded,  set  in  straight  rows  with 
an  architectural  sort  of  precision,  like  ancient 
blocks  of  masonry  allotted  in  streets  and  cross- 
streets. 

This  world  -  old  town  of  some  elemental 
chance  had  its  thready  paths  padded  in  cush- 


BOUND  IN  BHALIiOWS  71 

iony  layers  of  brown  autumnal  leaf.  Through 
the  dim,  mysterious  ways  the  faint  highland 
winds  breathed  sad  and  strange,  and  over  every- 
thing the  changing  branches  of  many  forest 
trees  wavered,  setting  pale  shadows  afoot  in 
the  silent  avenues  and  lending  to  the  wood- 
land stillness  the  sorrowful  lisping  of  their 
topmost  leaves.  A  little  aside  from  the  spec- 
tral paths  of  the  thronging  rocks  a  great  soli- 
tary block  leaned  from  the  perpendicular,  pois- 
ing itself  airily  on  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  A 
step  or  two,  with  a  foot-cloth  of  starry  moss,  in- 
cised the  stony  pile,  and,  mounting  these,  Lucy 
pointed  out  far  below  at  the  base  of  the  high 
cliff  the  green  waters  of  the  Cumberland. 

''We're  a  mile  or  so  above  the  head  of  navi- 
gation," she  said,  while  from  beneath  the  moan 
of  the  shoals  came  in  a  lamentable  sound. 
From  cliff  to  cliff  the  rocky  bed  had  whipped 
the  thin  glaze  of  emerald  into  feathery  rings, 
which  covered  the  whole  stream  with  their 
evanescent  whiteness.  At  the  bend  of  the 
current  a  rude  fish-trap  jutted  from  the  water, 
and  over  it,  careening  in  slow,  ominous  flights, 
a  huge  buzzard  flashed  red  gleams  from  its 
dingy  wings. 

Lucy  was  adjusting  a  pair  of  field-glasses  to 
the  distant  summits,  and  Mrs.  Morrow's  voice 
sounded  from  some  leafy  solitude  beyond  the 


73  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

path,  where,  in  damp,  lurking  places,  she 
searched  for  ferns.  "  Alexa,"  she  called,  ''here 
is  a  clump  of  maiden -hair.  You  can  carry 
several  roots  in  a  handkerchief  if  you  think 
your  mother  needs  a  few  more  plants."  Alexa 
sprang  from  the  tilting  rock  to  join  her,  and 
Dillon,  who  had  doubled  himself  up  near  the 
verge,  felt  the  enchantment  of  the  place  en- 
hanced by  her  departure. 

The  inherent  melancholy  of  his  nature  lux- 
uriated in  the  lonely  murmurs  of  the  water, 
the  notes  of  a  distant  bird,  and  the  sighing  of 
the  summer  trees  —  sounds  which  seemed  in 
subtle  harmony  with  the  aged  ashen  hue  of 
the  rocks,  the  sinuous  purple  of  the  hills,  and 
the  dreary  glitter  of  the  river  far  beyond  the 
shoals.  Lucy  laid  down  the  glasses,  drawing  a 
long  breath,  which  reached  Dillon  remotely. 

"How  lonely  it  is  !"  she  said.  "Half  its 
beauty  is  in  that.  Oh,  look,  he  has  pounced 
on  a  fish  !  Poor  little  thing  !" — as  the  buzzard 
descended  on  the  trap  and  rose  weighted  with 
a  slim,  silvery,  flapping  thing  which  beaded  the 
air  below  it  with  crystal  drops.  Dillon  took 
up  the  glasses. 

"I  have  a  bitter  sense  of  personal  griev- 
ance,'' he  said.  "  I  suppose  he  was  born  to  be 
eaten — that  catfish.  But  he's  such  a  little 
fellow,  and  the  buzzard  did  the  thing  so  fero- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  78 

cionsly,  that  somehow  one  resents  the  business. 
There!  the  brute  has  reached  the  bosom  of  his 
family.  Can  you  see  him  lighting  on  the  crag 
to  the  left  ?  No,  no — this  way,  near  where 
that  oak  sapling  springs  from  a  crack  in  the 
cliff."  He  laughed  as  he  looked  at  the  tree 
over  the  buzzard's  eyrie.  "A  beautiful  simile, 
though  somewhat  overdone,  of  the  effect  of 
charity  upon  the  stony  bosom  of  the  repro- 
bate !  A  cleft,  a  seed,  then  the  full-leafed  tree ! 
I  wonder  how  many  million  times  that  met- 
aphor has  figured  in  pious  discourses  ?  It's  a 
sister  to  the  simile  of  the  jagged  rock  which 
falls  into  a  stream  and  threatens  to  stop  its 
course  forever,  till  the  current,  doubling  about 
it,  pursues  its  way  with  added  force,  and  clothes 
the  stone  in  such  verdure  that  the  mean  ob- 
stacle becomes  its  greatest  beauty."  There 
was  a  mocking  tone  in  his  voice,  and  as  he 
spoke  he  tore  up  a  scrap  of  moss  and  cast 
abroad  the  crimpled  fibres  with  a  careless  hand. 
"  Most  of  the  world's  poetic  enthusiasm  con- 
cerns the  unregenerate  soul,"  he  smiled,  "from 
'Paradise  Lost'  to  the  'Idyls  of  the  King.' 
Where  would  literature  be  if  it  were  not  for  the 
fall  of  man  ?  It  wouldn't  be  at  all,  probably. 
Since  we  are  being  taught  that  it's  a  kind  of 
disease  anyway — a  morbid  secretion — its  cate- 
gory is  likely  that  of  the  other  ills  which  the 


74  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

credulons  first  pair  brought  on  us.  Do  I  read 
much  ?  Oh  yes,  a  man's  got  to  read.  The  lit- 
erary habit  is  like  the  opium  habit;  a  man 
knows  that  he's  in  an  impossible  world  floating 
in  an  ether  which  doesn't  pretend  to  touch 
actual  ground,  but  once  he's  begun  to  lend 
himself  to  these  fictions  it  isn't  easy  to  leave 
off." 

'^You  don't  read  the  right  sort  of  books, 
perhaps,"  said  Lucy,  reasonably. 

"  What  should  I  read  ?" 

She  laughed.  "  You  can  get  an  edifying  list 
almost  anywhere.  I  shouldn't  like  to  commit 
myself.  But  before  we  started  out  this  after- 
noon I  was  reading  a  story — oh,  it  was  only  a 
story — of  Bret  Harte's.  I  don't  know  whether 
it  is  edifying  or  not,  but  I  know  it  was  inter- 
esting. There  are  a  number  of  Western  stories 
in  the  book  ;  it  isn't  a  new  book  at  all.  I  liked 
them  because  they  are  hopeful  stories,  and  show 
how,  deep  down  in  the  hearts  of  criminals, 
gamblers,  and  outcasts  generally  there  are  in- 
destructible germs  of  good.  Nothing,  1  think, 
is  so  surprisingly  pleasant  as  to  watch  these 
kindly  impulses  creeping  out  in  bad  lives,  and 
making  men  who  haven't  been  good  men  will- 
ing to  sacrifice  themselves  in  some  poor  creat- 
ure's behalf,  or  to  suffer  all  sorts  of  hardships 
in  order  to  give  a  child  pleasure." 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  76 

"  It  would  be  surprisingly  pleasant  to  see 
them,  as  well  as  to  read  about  them.  But  even 
to  read  about  them  must  be  encouraging.  Will 
yon  lend  me  your  book?  I  should  like  to  be 
encouraged  and  cheered  up — "  He  said  this 
lightly,  but  Lucy  saw  that  his  face  was  grave. 
Won  by  the  seriousness  with  which  she  lis- 
tened, Dillon  spoke  of  his  lonely  childhood,  his 
mother's  death,  and  his  uncle's  indulgent  love. 
There  was  little  in  his  life,  he  said,  which  he 
cared  to  dwell  on.  His  youth  had  led  to  a 
manhood  without  hope  or  ambition.  "  But,'' 
he  cried,  interrupting  the  broken  narrative, 
"  I  shouldn't  ramble  on  like  this !  Idle  regrets 
are  rather  poor  stufE  to  ask  one's  friends  to 
listen  to." 

^'Are  your  regrets  idle  ?"  asked  Lucy,  trying 
to  banish  the  impression  of  some  dreaming 
impotence  of  character  in  him  which,  as  he 
talked,  had  been  stealing  into  her  mind.  Per- 
haps it  was  his  voice,  saddening  and  lapsing 
from  time  to  time,  that  had  occasioned  this 
idea.  Lucy  had  not  time  to  hunt  down  her 
fugitive  perception,  and  she  reproached  her- 
self for  having  entertained  it. 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  that  they  were  any- 
thing else,"  said  Dillon. 

'**He  that  lacks  time  to  mourn,'"  quoted 
Lucy,  snapping  the  lid  of  the  leather  case  in 


76  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

which  she  had  replaced  the  field-glasses, 
"  '  lacks  time  to  mend/  "  And  she  added,  with 
a  practical  air,  "  But  it's  probably  better  not 
to  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  in  being  sorry 
about  what  can't  be  undone.  It  is  more  im- 
portant, perhaps,  to  do  something  worth  being 
glad  about." 

"  If  one  can,"  put  in  Dillon. 

"  If  one  can  ?"  repeated  Lucy,  in  smiling 
wonder.  Dillon's  lips  trembled  in  their  slight 
wisp  of  yellowish  beard.  How  implicitly  she 
believed  in  the  radical  goodness  of  every  hu- 
man heart  and  the  invincible  power  of  every 
human  will !  How  amused  she  looked  that  he 
should  question  these  things  !  How  clear  her 
gaze  was,  how  blessedly  fallacious  her  young 
wisdom  ! 

Alexa's  voice  rose  close  by  in  one  of  the 
streets  of  the  tenantless  town.  There  was  the 
rustle  of  footsteps  in  the  dry  leaves,  and  then 
a  silence. 

"  How  long  you  have  been,  Alexa  !"  said 
Lucy,  turning ;  and  as  she  turned  she  grew 
white  and  uttered  a  little  stifled  cry  and  fell 
back.  Dillon,  following  her  glance,  rose  sud- 
denly with  a  suppressed  word.  In  the  middle 
of  the  shadowy  space  behind  them  Alexa  was 
standing  perfectly  still,  as  if  in  a  stupor  of 
fearj  with  ashen  cheeks  and  wide  eyes  and  an 


BOXnm  IN  SHALLOWS  77 

outstretched,  motionless  hand ;  and  in  the 
brown  leaves  before  her  Dillon  and  Lucy  saw 
the  glimmer  of  something  that  was  like  a  jew- 
elled ribbon,  slender  and  bright,  but  coiling  in 
a  suggestion  of  deadly  life. 


VII 


In"  the  dimness  of  growing  night  the  outlook 
from  the  hotel  had  an  impalpable  delicacy. 
Overhead  a  thought  of  blue  still  lingered, 
though  a  few  stars,  mere  flecks  of  uncertain 
silver,  shook  vague  and  far  in  the  darkening 
skies.  A  haze  of  dusty  yellow  settled  mo- 
mently behind  the  steep  black  cliffs  ;  and  as 
it  sank  the  stars  brightened  and  multiplied, 
and  half-way  down  the  hill  road  a  drug-store 
window  flung  a  sudden  crimson  through  the 
gloom  which  wrapped  the  town. 

About  the  station  were  the  usual  evening 
sounds :  the  clack  of  the  telegraph  instru- 
ments, talk,  laughter,  the  shuffling  of  feet, 
the  creak  of  the  signal  as  a  distant  whistle 
blew,  and  finally  the  noise  of  a  freight  -  train 
puffing  up  the  swag,  and  fanning  out  upon 
the  tracks  great  white  triangles  from  its  elec- 
tric headlight.  This  moving,  milky  radiance 
reached  clean  to  the  hotel  porch,  casting  a 
strange  pallor  over  the  men  who  sat  there,  and 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  79 

passing  swiftly  on  to  twist  fantastic,  glittering 
scarfs  throngh  the  big  beech  boles  beyond. 

*'  Something  new,  ain't  it  ?"  asked  a  voice. 
There  was  an  affirmation  which  was  almost  lost 
in  the  triumphant  outburst  of  a  party  of  men 
engaged  at  cards  within  the  office. 

*'  You  weren't  persuaded  to  join  the  game  ?" 
asked  Taliaferro  of  Dillon,  with  whom  he  sat 
apart  from  the  others. 

*'  Hardly,"  signified  Dillon,  loosening  the  ash 
from  his  cigar;  "not  when  the  game  is  cinch." 

As  he  spoke  a  stalwart  figure  bunched  its 
outlines  in  the  doorway,  sending  a  conically 
hatted  shadow  over  the  porch.  It  was  Bohun, 
and  he  peered  through  the  shadows,  saying, 
"'s  Mr.  Dillon  about  ?"  Bohun  had  his  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  smok- 
ing^ and  the  light  from  the  window  picked  out 
a  rather  uncommon  expression  in  such  parts  of 
his  face  as  his  broad  beard  left  free. 

"Why,  say,"  he  began,  approaching  Dillon's 
corner  of  the  piazza,  "  I  just  now  heard  about 
what  you  done  this  afternoon.  Alexy  and  Mis' 
Bohun  they're  so  weepy  you  can  skercely  git 
any  sense  outn  'em.  Took  me  some  time  to 
find  out  that  they  had  theirselves  worked  up 
over  your  killin'  a  copperhead  out  yender  in 
the  rocks.  Seems  it  was  a-coilin'  to  strike 
when  you  hit  it  a  lick.     Alexy  sticks  to  it  that 


80  BOUND  m  SHALLOWS 

she'd  be  a  goner  by  now  if  you  hadn't  been  so 
qnick  on  your  feet.  She  says  the  way  the  cop- 
per oozed  from  the  thing's  mouth  was  a  sight 
to  raise  a  body's  flesh  I  Lord,  I  just  says  to 
'em  both,  says  I,  '  Nobody  has  any  business  pro- 
jectin'  round  these  knobs  without  a  flask  !  If 
there's  any  time/  says  I,  '  when  a  mouthful  of 
good  rye  '11  out-marshal  prayers  fifty  cents  to  a 
brass  nickle  it's  when  a  snake  sticks  ye ! 
'Twon't  do  to  depend  on  a  angel  comin'  down 
special/  says  I ;  '  the  force  may  be  off  duty  or 
detailed  som'ers  else.  You  want  liquor  and 
you  want  it  quick.'  I  tell  y'all,  that  close  call 
of  Alexy's  has  made  me  kind  of  creepy.  Fools 
gyrls  is  !  starin'  at  the  sky  and  walkin'  straight 
into  bottomless  pits !  Lord,  I  tell  ye !"  He 
dashed  the  damp  from  his  brow  rather  ex- 
citedly. 

"  Oh,  the  thing  was  not  very  near  her,"  ex- 
claimed Dillon.  ''He  was  probably  more  scared 
than  she,  poor  little  reptile !  He  was  beauti- 
fully streaked  and  spotted." 

Mr.  Bohun  nodded  twice.  "  The  good  looks 
of  a  sarpint  '11  never  turn  my  head,"  he  speci- 
fied. "  And  ugly  or  pretty,  I  ain't  f orgettin' 
that  you  cracked  his  backbone.  No,  sir,  I  am 
not.  We've  only  got  the  one,  Mis'  Bohun  and 
me.  We'd  be  plumb  destracted  if  anything 
was  to  happen  Alexy." 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  81 

Dillon  rose,  stretching  his  arms.  "It  was 
only  a  worm,  Bohnn/'  he  repeated.  "I  hated 
to  kill  him.  I  haven't  the  nsual  prejudice 
against  his  kind.  Doctor,  are  you  going  down 
the  hill  ?  I  should  like  you  to  give  me  some 
sulphonal  or  something.     I  sleep  wretchedly." 

Taliaferro  had  developed  a  very  friendly 
sentiment  for  Dillon  during  the  evenings  which 
they  spent  together  about  the  hotel.  Dillon's 
comments  upon  them  gave  new  color  to  the 
familiar  sights  and  sounds  of  the  commonplace 
life  of  the  town,  and,  though  he  spoke  of  every- 
thing with  a  sort  of  bottomless  cynicism,  there 
was  always  in  his  voice  a  sympathetic  quality 
which  won  upon  the  doctor.  Taliaferro,  hav- 
ing a  singularly  straightforward  habit  of  mind, 
was  accustomed  to  judge  men  in  a  large,  gen- 
eral way,  by  their  prominent  characteristics; 
in  Dillon's  case  characteristics  of  a  contra- 
dictory nature  seemed  equally  prominent,  and 
Taliaferro's  efforts  to  establish  a  logical  opin- 
ion regarding  the  other  were  somewhat  per- 
plexing. 

They  walked  down  the  dark  hill  road  and  sat 
talking  in  the  little  hemlock  office  until  a 
countryman,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  came  to 
claim  the  doctor's  attention.  Dillon,  returning 
alone  to  the  hotel,  found  two  or  three  men  still 
on  the  porch,  while  from  the  little-used  parlor 


83  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

above  the  office  the  sounds  of  an  exceedingly 
flat  piano  floated  in  a  strain  appropriate  to  the 
day.  On  his  way  through  the  upper  hall  Dillon 
had  often  glanced  into  the  hotel  parlor.  Some- 
times a  country  bride  sat  blushing  in  the  broken 
sofa-arm,  regarding  with  blissful  glances  a 
heavy-handed>  equally  embarrassed  young  man, 
who,  at  the  rumor  of  a  footstep  in  the  hall, 
usually  began  to  pound  out  a  tuneless  refrain 
on  the  aged  piano.  Generally,  however,  the 
room  Avas  empty^  yet  with  an  air  of  by-gone 
social  hours  in  the  threadbare  paths  of  gray 
which  wandered  through  the  Brussels  carpet 
and  spread  in  pools  before  the  rickety  arm- 
chairs and  uncertain  settee.  There  was  a  large 
stove,  with  an  apoplectic  purple  lustre  on  its 
sheet-iron  front,  which  also  suggested  a  possi- 
bility of  past  fires,  though  now  the  pipe  was 
gone,  and  only  a  black,  soot-dabbled  hole  in  the 
once  gilt-papered  wall  remained  to  show  where 
it  had  been.  Over  the  high  picture  of  some 
Kentucky  statesman  with  an  aquiline  profile 
and  a  stock  -  bandaged  neck  the  evergreen 
branches  of  a  long-forgotten  holiday  stretched 
bare  brown  twigs,  in  which  silky  strands  of  web 
hung  and  the  remains  of  flies  wound  in  white 
cocoons.  Skeletons  of  what  had  been  mistle- 
toe-boughs lifted  a  russet  furze  about  the  chan- 
delier, which  had  still  one  glass  globe  left  to 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  83 

show  how  splendid  it  had  been  in  the  days 
when  the  piano  before  the  long  windows  was 
new,  with  a  case  less  scratched  up  than  at  pres- 
ent, and  without  the  present  strange  disposi- 
tion of  its  yellow  keys  to  stand  erect,  like  the 
tusks  of  an  irate  boar. 

The  great  sliding-doors  were  always  open, 
and  to-night  as  Dillon  passed  the  parlor  he  saw 
Alexa  sitting  on  the  toppling  piano-stool,  run- 
ning her  hands  along  the  keys.  At  his  step 
she  turned  and  got  up  rather  quickly.  She  was 
for  once  not  in  the  least  gay,  as  he  observed, 
but  with  a  paleness  in  her  cheeks  that  made 
them  look  almost  hollow,  and  with  a  grave 
shadow  in  her  eyes  that  befitted  their  darkness 
and  heavy  brows. 

''  I  never  told  you — I  never  thanked  you — 
this  afternoon,  you  know,"  she  stammered. 
"  I  was  so  scared  I  couldn't.  But  I've  thought 
lots  about  it  since,  and  yet  seems  as  if  I  don't 
know  just  what  to  say.  Where  would  I  be  now 
but  for  you  ?"  She  lifted  her  head  slowly, 
tragically.     ''Where  would  I  be  now  ?" 

Dillon  burst  into  a  laugh.  He  laid  hold  of  a 
chair,  and  was  about  to  seat  himself  when 
Alexa,  in  a  deep  voice,  said,  solemnly,  "Not 
that.  The  back  legs  always  stretch  out  and 
give  way  when  any  one  sits  in  it." 

Dillon,  avoiding  this  disaster,  took  the  piano- 


/ 


84  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

stool.  "  If  you  mention  this  thing  to  me  again/' 
he  smiled,  "  1  shall  have  to  go  and  board  down 
in  the  flats  with  the  loggers.  I'm  not  sure  it 
wouldn't  be  a  good  idea,  anyway.  Two  dollars 
and  ten  cents  a  week  is  what  Mrs.  Meakin  asks. 
A  fellow  could  lay  something  by  for  that  grisly 
phantom  of  a  rainy  day  to  which  prudent  peo- 
ple are  always  sacrificing  their  fine  weather." 

"I'd  pity  any  one  had  to  eat  after  Mis' 
Meakin,"  remarked  Alexa,  easily  turned  from 
herself.  "She  makes  the  meanest  light  bread 
I  ever  put  to  my  mouth." 

"Of  course  I'd  be  miserable,"  admitted 
Dillon,  pulling  out  his  mustache.  There  was 
a  whimsical  gleam  in  his  eyes,  and  the  lines  of 
his  face  looked  vague.  "But,  then,  one  is 
usually  miserable  in  this  badly  adjusted  Avorld. 
A  little  poor  pie-crust,  more  or  less  —  what 
does  it  matter  ?" 

"It  makes  a  heap  of  difference  when  you 
got  to  digest  it,"  said  Alexa.  "  But,  say !  why, 
I  won't  speak  of — of  that  other  matter  if  you 
don't  like  me  to.  Only,"  she  gave  a  half-sob  of 
fearful  remembrance,  "I  want  you  should  know 
that  I'm  grateful." 

Dillon  twirled  the  crazy  piano-stool  in  rising. 
Alexa's  profound  eyes  were  lifted  to  him  in  a 
gaze  of  mournful  intensity,  and  as  he  took  her 
hand  in  a  pressure  of  farewell,  he  said,  gentl}'. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  86 

''  Don't  be  grateful,  Alexa.  That  is  my  own 
privilege,  if  indeed  I  have  been  able  to  serve 
you  in  any  way."  Bowing  over  her  cold,  brown 
fingers  with  a  kind  of  half-mocking  courtesy, 
he  brushed  them  lightly  with  his  mustache, 
and  resigned  them  and  went  on  to  his  room. 

"  I  always  said  Mr.  Dillon  'd  be  heaps  of  com- 
pany for  you,  Elex,"  said  Mrs.  Bohun,  one 
evening  later  on.  "  I  don't  reckon  Beau  Mc- 
Beath  '11  ever  hear  the  drum  beat — eh,  Elex  ? 
Beau's  good-hearted.  I  ain't  lisping  a  word 
agin  him ;  your  paw  sets  store  by  Beau,  seein' 
he's  a  Mason  and  all.  Your  paw  'lows  it  looks 
well  to  be  a  Mason.  Seems  that  they  all  brother 
each  other  along  like,  and  have  to  believe  in  a 
God,  and  know  how  to  write  their  own  names. 
So 't  when  a  man's  a  Mason,  why,  you  know  he's 
pious  and  high  eddicated,  and  sure  of  a  boost 
when  he  needs  a  boost.  Your  paw  says  that 
for  himse'f  he  don't  ask  no  boost  off  of  nobody. 
He  says  he'd  scorn  for  to  wear  a  three-cornered 
charm  unto  his  watch-chain  and  have  to  go 
'long  the  street  winkin'  and  blinkin'  at  every 
stranger  he  met,  a-trying  to  find  out  who  was 
feller-Masons  and  who  wasn't.  You  know  they 
got  a  way  of  shaking  hands  that  tells  'em  who's 
who — take  up  one  finger  and  drop  two,  or  some 
such  thing.  No,  your  paw  can  hoe  his  own 
row,  but  he  says  he  don't  blame  Beau  for  git- 


86  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

tin'  ahead  any  honest  way  he  can.  D'law,  hear 
me  taking  up  for  Bean^  like  he  had  any  chance 
these  days  \" 

Alexa  blushed.  "  Ma,"  she  expostulated, 
"how  you  go  on  !  Just  because  Mr.  Dillon 
gets  me  to  play  him  college  glees  now  and 
again." 

Mrs.  Bohun's  conciliatory  smile  became  in- 
fused with  penetration.  "  I  can  see  through 
a  ladder  when  the  rungs  ain't  too  close  to- 
gether/' she  pointed  out.  "All  is,  Elex,  I 
hope  you  won't  marry  no  one  that  '11  carry  you 
out  of  Pulaski  County.  One  reason  I  always 
said  I  could  enjure  it  if  you  and  Doctor  Talia- 
ferro fixed  things  up  was  account  of  him  seem- 
ing to  feel  settled  here." 

Alexa  gave  a  cry  of  exasperation.  "The 
doctor  ?  Ma,  you  kill  me  !  Why,  he  don't 
know  there's  another  gyrl  living  besides  Lucy 
Morrow." 

Mrs.  Bohun  was  not  disconcerted  at  this. 
"That's  all  right,"  she  announced.  "You're 
a  might  sight  handsomer  than  Lucy  Morrow. 
As  fur  as  him  seeming  taken  with  her  goes, 
you  never  know,  Elex,  what  a  man's  turning 
in  his  head.  Men  are  deep-witted  creatures, 
Elex.  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  doctor  was  battin' 
his  eyes  towards  Lucy  Morrow  just  to  hide  his 
real  feelin's  for  some  one  else/'  triumphantly 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  87 

pursued  Mrs.  Bohun,  who  read  the  books  which 
the  drummers  bought  on  trains  and  left  behind 
at  the  hotel. 

"  Fiddlestrings  V  said  Alexa,  who  read  no 
books  and  had  an  unimpaired  rationality. 

"  I  know  a  thing  or  two,  Elex.  Mebby  you'll 
ask  me  to  believe  Mr.  Dillon^s  eyes  are  walling 
uphill  too  ?" 

Alexa's  brow  clouded.  "Well,  he  goes  to 
the  Morrows  pretty  frequent,"  she  insisted. 

"  He's  got  to  put  in  his  time,"  Mrs.  Bohun 
explained.  "You  ain't  always  about,  Elex. 
If  you  was,  he'd  wear  out  no  shoe-leather  climb- 
ing the  upper  road." 

The  trees  had  thickened  with  the  fulness 
of  July,  and  the  village  lay  submerged  in  a  sea 
of  leaf,  revealing  only  in  infrequent  glimpses 
a  cottage  chimney  and  slanting  roof  ragged  in 
branching  shadows.  The  rivers  cringed  before 
the  midsummer  drouth.  Their  currents  now 
were  little  more  than  jelly-like  films  of  olive 
spread  upon  the  stony  beds.  In  the  richness 
of  its  overhanging  foliage  the  waters  of  the 
South  Fork  seemed  along  shore  to  ooze  with 
green  paint ;  and  relieved  against  the  deepen- 
ing tones  of  earth  and  sky  the  shoals  resem- 
bled a  low  white  net  stretched  from  bank  to 
bank. 

One  night  as  Dillon  came  out-doors  after 


88  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

supper  he  paused  in  an  inspection  of  the  rosy 
west,  upon  which,  as  upon  a  spread  fan  of 
gauze,  every  smallest  sprig  of  the  trees  along 
the  bluff  was  lacquered  in  dense  black.  The 
windows  of  the  station  repeated  the  faint  ver- 
milion. Its  overhanging  roof  laced  the  red 
sky  with  the  row  of  bias  beams  below  its  eaves, 
and  behind  it  a  whirl  of  smoke  rose  from  the 
pile  of  brush  which  a  throng  of  boys  were  burn- 
ing there.  As  Dillon  stood  on  the  hotel  thresh- 
old nightfall  darkened,  and  a  light  or  two 
crept  out  in  the  bottoms,  and  a  half-moon 
thrust  a  bunch  of  silver  splinters  through  the 
lacy  gloom  of  the  beeches.  He  caught,  from 
somewhere  in  the  valley,  the  snapping  of  a 
banjo.  Presently  the  thud  of  feet  reached  him 
and  the  ring  of  a  voice  bawling  forth  the 
changes  of  a  rustic  cotillon. 

"  A  dance,''  said  Dillon.  There  was  no  one 
about  the  porch  or  office  except  a  young  man 
with  a  Jewish  face,  who  was  unpacking  an 
iron-ribbed  trunk  under  the  water-cooler  and 
spreading  upon  a  long  table  a  stock  of  tapes 
and  notions.  But  as  Dillon  turned  an  eye 
upon  this  person's  operations  Alexa  appeared 
in  the  door  of  the  family-room,  a  maze  of  frills. 

"  Alone  ?"  said  she. 

"Persecuting  time  with  hope,"  remarked 
Dillon,  who  had  the  habit  of  adapting  other 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  89 

people's  phrases  to  his  own  necessities.  "  What 
is  that  man  stringing  out  those  braids  and  but- 
tons for  ?" 

"  He's  a  drummer,"  said  Alexa.  "  When 
he  gets  his  things  spread  out  he'll  go  and  fetch 
up  a  store-keeper  to  see  them.  They  all  show 
their  stocks  in  our  office.  The  music's  begun, 
hasn't  it  ?  There's  a  dance  to-night  down  at 
Buck  Sherrer's.  I  thought  some  of  going 
down  to  look  on.  Doctor  Taliaferro's  going 
to  bring  Miss  Morrow  down,  he  said.  I  told 
ma  if  Lucy  Morrow  could  look  on,  it  wouldn't 
hurt  me  to  look  on." 

Taliaferro  was,  in  point  of  fact,  at  that  mo- 
ment calling  Lucy's  attention  to  the  broken 
strains  drifting  over  the  cliff.  They  were  sit- 
ting on  the  lawn,  over  which  a  belated  breath 
of  wind  began  to  stir,  the  Major  immovable 
in  his  arm-chair,  Corinne  sleeping  in  her  moth- 
er's lap,  Lucy  on  a  bench  below  the  trees,  a 
slightly  defined  figure  whose  skirts  the  moon- 
light whitened,  and  whose  head  was  garlanded 
in  leafy  shadows. 

"  Won't  you  go  down  ?"  asked  Taliaferro. 

'*  Isn't  it  rather  warm  ?"  demurred  Lucy. 
"  I've  been  to  Somerset  to-day,  and  I'm  a  little 
tired."  Then,  as  she  caught  the  sudden  disap- 
pointment in  his  face,  she  added :  "  Sherrer's 
is  only  half-way  down  the  hill,  after  all.    Wait 


90  BOITKD  IN  SHALLOWS 

till  I  get  a  scarf  or  something. '^  She  returned 
in  a  moment  with  a  fleecy  knit  thing  on  her 
arm,  and  they  went  down  the  pebbled  walk. 
In  the  outer  road  she  laid  her  hand  confiden- 
tially on  his  arm  and  asked,  "  Have  you  some- 
thing to  tell  me  ?" 

Taliaferro's  pulse  quickened.  They  had 
come  to  a  clump  of  trees  growing  darkly  mid- 
way of  the  road,  and  as  they  passed  through 
the  dusk  spot  he  could  feel  Lucy  drawing  near- 
er to  him,  in  a  sort  of  apprehension  of  some- 
thing in  the  gloom. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  have."  His  heart  had 
lifted  with  her  motion  of  reliance  in  him,  and 
when  they  came  again  into  the  moon-lighted 
path,  and  he  saw  her  face  attentively  raised  to 
him,  a  sudden  impulse  sprang  into  being  in 
his  mind.  "Yes,"  he  repeated,  "I  want  to 
tell  you  something." 

*'  If  it's  anything  important,"  said  Lucy,  be- 
ginning to  cough  with  the  smoke  of  the  burn- 
ing brush  behind  the  station,  "you'd  better 
wait  till  we're  coming  back.  This  smoke  is 
dreadful ;  and  those  boys  will  certainly  catch 
fire,  leaping  as  they  are  through  the  flames." 

At  the  turn  of  the  platform  Buck  Sherrer's 
house,  with  an  illuminator  behind  the  oil  lamp 
on  its  porch,  flashed  in  sight.  A  stone  dyke 
along  the  cottage  front  kept  the  road  from 


BOUND.  IN  SHALLOWS  91 

coming  into  Buck  Sherrer's  yard,  which  was 
only  a  foot  wide,  and  filled  at  present  with  the 
legs  of  such  villagers  as  had  secured  seats  along 
the  stony  fence.  The  twang  of  banjos  filled 
the  air,  and  from  the  low -ceiled  front  room, 
with  its  throng  of  bouncing  figures,  a  pound- 
ing of  booted  feet  came  steadily.  The  men, 
big  fellows  in  rough  attire,  with  oily  black 
heads  that  came  dangerously  near  the  beams, 
appeared  to  abandon  themselves  gayly  to  the 
figures  of  the  quadrille.  The  women  had  a 
more  serious  aspect,  advancing  and  retreating 
with  smileless  lips  and  austere  eyes.  They 
looked  on,  cold  and  critical,  while  a  girl  with 
slim,  stiff  ankles  executed  a  brisk  but  joyless 
jig  before  her  partner.  There  was  a  shout  of 
laughter  from  the  men  as  this  girl,  corseted  to 
a  wooden  rigor,  cast  her  pink  gingham  arms 
behind  her  and  eluded  the  outspread  hands  of 
the  sawyer's  assistant,  who  had  expected  to 
"swing"  her  in  some  change  of  the  dance. 

"  Got  the  go-by  that  time,  Higgins  \"  they 
shouted.  **  Serve  him  right,  Marcelly  !  serve 
him  right  V 

Lucy  and  Taliaferro,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill 
across  the  way,  joined  in  the  laughter ;  for  the 
sawyer's  assistant  enjoyed  the  name  of  being 
irresistible. 

In  the  door  of  a  neighboring  house  Halifax 


93  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

Bnrns  sat  with  his  head  on  his  breast,  and  from 
the  broken  fence-rail  his  wife,  a  peaked  and 
witch-like  figure,  observed  the  crowd. 

"  Doctor, '^  she  called,  making  out  Taliafer- 
ro's face,  '^  my  man's  mighty  porely  to-night ! 
And  me,  I  ain't  no  way  well,  neither.  Couldn't 
you  give  us  a  few  of  them  little  brown  pills  ? 
I  never  git  no  rest  withouten  'em  no  more." 

*' You  can't  live  on  those  pills,  Mrs.  Burns." 

Mrs.  Burns's  face  sank.  ^'Law,"  she  whim- 
pered, "I  ain't  deserved  no  such  fate  as  this, 
raised  like  I  was,  a  prayin'  mother  and  all ! 
She  warned  me  how't  'd  be.  But  marry  Burns 
I  would  and  did,  and  I  'ain't  knowed  the  name 
of  peace  for  thirty  years.  Drinkin'  and  ca- 
rousin*  it's  been,  year  in  and  out !  Lord,  if 
I  could  git  one  of  them  little  pills  to — " 

"Oh,  get  her  some,"  whispered  Lucy.  "Hoav 
can  you  be  so  hard  on  her  ?  Go,  please  go.  Your 
oflEice  is  only  a  step  away.  I'll  wait  for  you. 
Here  are  Alexa  and  Mr.  Dillon.  I  will  talk 
with  them." 

As  Taliaferro  emerged  from  the  office  with 
a  little  vial  in  his  hand  he  could  see,  above  him 
in  the  hill  road,  the  flaring  lights  of  the  Sherrer 
cottage,  the  throng  of  heads,  the  sheet  of  moon- 
light beyond  on  the  slope,  and  Lucy  standing 
where  he  had  left  her.  There  were  others 
about  her,  but  Taliaferro  did  not  see  the  oth- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  98 

ers.  A  strange  exaltation  was  upon  him.  The 
night  was  glorified  with  uncommon  loveliness, 
and  the  stars,  shining  high  and  far  in  the  pale 
heavens,  spun  and  pulsed  with  power  and  prom- 
ise. Somewhere  across  the  South  Fork  an  owl 
uttered  a  plaintive,  puppy -like  wail.  A  bat 
whisked  past  him,  pencilling  the  air  with  swift 
black.  On  the  drawn  curtain  of  a  way-side 
dwelling  a  woman's  figure  modelled  itself  in 
faint  gray  as  she  bent  to  caress  the  child  upon 
her  bosom. 

Taliaferro's  eyes  misted  hotly.  Lucy's  voice 
drifted  to  him,  and  as  he  drew  nearer  to  her 
he  could  see  how  the  rising  breeze  was  lifting 
the  heavy  light  hair  about  her  face.  She  was 
talking  with  Dillon,  and  she  did  not  appear 
aware  of  Taliaferro's  approach.  He  came  so 
near,  indeed,  unperceived  of  the  two,  that  the 
expression  of  both  unconscious  faces  was  plain- 
ly disclosed  to  him,  Dillon's  fixed  and  serious 
and  questioning,  Lucy's  a  little  moved,  a  little 
strange. 

Taliaferro  drew  up  with  a  sense  as  of  thin 
steel  in  his  side.  "God,"  he  thought,  "if  it 
should  be  he  V 


vm 

As  he  went  up  the  road  with  Taliaferro  and 
Lucy  and  one  or  two  others,  Dillon  was  not 
aware  of  any  change  in  Alexa's  manner.  He 
knew  that  she  was  somewhere  behind ;  he  sup- 
posed she  was  pleasing  herself  in  the  matter  of 
an  escort.  At  the  brow  of  the  hill  his  compan- 
ions left  him,  and  as  Alexa  just  then  came  in 
sight  Dillon  opened  the  hotel  gate  for  her  and 
sauntered  beside  her  up  the  path. 

Alexa  made  no  effort  at  conversation.  Her 
face  was  moody,  and  she  appeared  careless  of 
the  twigs  and  grasses  catching  at  her  skirts. 
Once,  as  she  stumbled,  Dillon  caught  at  her 
arm ;  but  though  Alexa,  recovering  herself, 
moved  away  from  him  pettishly,  he  was  quite 
insensible  of  any  shadow  of  anger  in  her,  being 
filled  with  rapt  thoughts  in  which  Alexa  had 
no  part.  Yet  when  they  came  into  the  lighted 
office  and  he  saw  her  discomposed  face,  a  sort 
of  compunction  thrilled  him  in  remembering 
that  he  had  left  her  quite  alone  on  the  hill- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  96 

side,  while  he  fell  into  that  brief  but  somehow 
pregnant  little  talk  with  Lucy.  He  was  about 
to  ask  the  girl  to  pardon  his  neglect ;  but 
Alexa,  without  a  word  or  a  pause,  crossed  the 
room  and  slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

The  matter  disappeared  with  her  from  Dil- 
lon's mind.  Active  affairs  claimed  his  atten- 
tion upon  the  following  day,  for  Dunbar  found 
it  necessary  to  send  him  into  the  South  Fork 
country  upon  some  mission  connected  with  in- 
specting and  branding  a  quantity  of  timber 
that  was  ready  to  be  put  afloat  with  the  first 
water.  For  a  week  Dillon  and  an  old  logger 
belonging  to  the  mill  spent  their  days  on  horse- 
back in  a  wilderness  of  trackless  wood  and  their 
nights  under  the  trees  or  in  some  mountaineer's 
hut,  with  the  stars  shining  on  them  through 
the  chinky  roof.  And  as  he  lay  awake,  listen- 
ing to  the  hooting  of  the  owls  and  the  mur- 
mur of  the  river  flov/ing  sluggishly  in  its  deep 
banks  hard  by,  no  vagary  of  Alexa's  disturbed 
Dillon's  visions  of  a  gentler  face.  He  pondered 
upon  his  first  dulness  to  Lucy's  charm,  reflect- 
ing with  wonder  that  his  fancy  should  have 
been  so  unimpressionable ;  and  remembering, 
too,  how  little  beyond  a  passive  peace  he  had 
expected  to  find  in  the  valley  hamlet  which 
was  teaching  him  so  much.  For  he  began  to 
doubt  if,  after  all,  he  had  already  drunk  life  to 


96  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

the  full.  It  seemed  now  as  if  no  vital  cup  had 
ever  touched  his  lips  ;  and  in  the  freshness  of 
his  emotions  he  longed  for  the  rolling  knobs, 
the  lowland  fields,  the  meeting  rivers,  the  great 
beeches,  and  the  lofty  headlands  where  rose  the 
modest  roofs  of  the  hill  folk,  and  where,  hedged 
in  late  and  early  roses,  a  pebbled  path  climbed 
to  the  door  of  Lucy's  dwelling. 

When  finally  the  inspecting  and  branding 
were  finished  and  he  and  his  companion  ad- 
dressed themselves  homeward,  he  found  him- 
self boyishly  overcome  in  the  prospect.  The 
shrilling  of  the  saws  and  the  whiffing  of  a 
stave -bucker  reached  him  from  a  distance  in 
an  oddly  satisfying  strain,  and  there  was  even 
a  kind  of  melody  in  the  snorting  and  fussing 
of  the  little  locomotive  which  belonged  to  the 
valley  branch. 

It  was  on  for  dusk  as  he  closed  his  room  door, 
after  his  arrangements  for  supper  and  the  visit 
which  he  had  it  in  mind  to  make  during  the 
evening.  The  halls  were  still  unlighted,  but 
a  soft  twilight  grayness,  falling  through  the 
parlor  doors,  enabled  him  to  see  a  little  way 
ahead.  A  touch  of  yellow  from  the  primrose 
afterglow  tinged  this  luminous  outburst,  and 
as  Dillon  in  passing  the  parlor  glanced  towards 
the  wide,  shining  windoAvs  at  the  dying  gold  of 
the  west,  he  saw  darkly  lined  against  one  of 


BOUND  EN  SHALLOWS  97 

them  a  woman's  figure,  poised  in  an  attitude 
of  gloomy  thought — a  figure  which,  as  his  step 
shortened,  turned  with  a  startled  air. 

*'It's  only  1,"  Dillon  said,  recognizing  Alexa. 
And  as  she  continued  to  look  at  him  in  a 
strange,  disbelieving  sort  of  way,  he  came 
towards  her,  repeating  his  assurance.  Alexa 
murmured  a  word  or  two,  with  her  eyes  still 
fastened  upon  his  embrowned  face. 

"^Is  anything  wrong?"  questioned  Dillon, 
beginning  to  be  surprised  at  her  muteness  and 
pallor. 

Alexa  suddenly  covered  her  face.  "No,"  she 
breathed. 

"  I  thought  you  seemed  rather  down,"  ex- 
plained Dillon. 

"  It's  nothing,"  repeated  Alexa,  in  a  stifled 
way.     "I  hate  it  here,  that's  all.     I  hate  it." 

"  Hate  it  ?  Why,  it's  a  beautiful  place.  Now 
I — why,  I'm  fonder  of  it  than  of  any  other 
place  in  the  world.  I  was  never  so  anxious  to 
get  back  anywhere  in  my  life."  Alexa  un- 
covered her  eyes,  and  Dillon  noted  their  depths 
and  the  purple  light  that  faded  on  Alexa's  hair. 
''I  know,"  he  went  on,  "that  you  haven't 
many  interests.  But  you  might  have  more, 
Alexa.  Preaching  from  me  has  rather  a  queer 
sound,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  you  might  be 
happier  yourself  if  you  were  to  try  to  make 


08  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

some  one  else  happy.  Mr.  McBeath,  now. 
If—" 

He  left  off^  startled  at  the  change  in  Alexa's 
face. 

"Him,"  she  breathed,  making  a  little  mo- 
tion as  if  she  groped  in  the  shadows  for  some 
sensible  support.  ''Do  you  dare  ...  do  you 
dare  ..."    Her  voice  broke  in  a  rush  of  tears. 

*'  You  poor  child  I"  cried  Dillon,  with  a  dawn- 
ing comprehension.  He  had  drawn  closer,  and 
he  lifted  Alexa^s  quivering  chin  and  half  smil- 
ingly questioned  the  brimming  eyes  she  tried 
to  cover. 

"Tears?"  he  asked.  Her  throat  fluttered 
with  an  imprisoned  sob.  Dillon  bent  lower. 
There  was  a  shrill  accent  from  the  piano  as  he 
did  so,  and  suddenly  drawing  away  he  realized 
that  it  was  because  he  had  given  the  keys  a 
stroke  of  his  elbow  in  resting  his  lips  for  a  pity- 
ing instant  upon  Alexa's  wet  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Tve  been  so  miserable  !"  sighed  Alexa. 
Her  hand  was  on  his  sleeve,  and  she  stroked 
the  stuff  as  if  the  very  twill  of  it  gave  her  com- 
fort. "  But  you're  home  now  !  And  you  were 
truly  glad  to  get  back  ? — you  were  truly  Jiome- 
sich  ?"  A  delighted,  tearful  laugh  broke  from 
her.  "  Sure  'nough  homesick  ?  I've  fixed  your 
room  right  pretty  since  you  been  gone.  Did  you 
notice  the  splasher  ?    I  worked  it  myself.     Ma 


'  oil.  I've  been  so  miserable  1' 


BOUKD  m  SHALLOWS  99 

and  I  put  up  the  curtains,  too.  Did  you  notice 
how  well  they  hang  ?  And  the  rocking-chair — 
we  thought  you  might  care  to  rock  awhile 
evenings.  Oh,  it  was  such  a  comfort  to  feel  I 
was  doing  something  for  you !  I  was  miserable 
because  I  had  acted  kind  of  pouty  that  night 
down  at  Buck  Sherrer's.  I  was  hurt  because 
you  left  me  so  long  by  myself — I'm  such  a  fool ! 
And  then  when  you  went  up  South  Fork  with- 
out saying  good-bye,  I  just  thought  I'd  lose 
my  mind  fearing  you  might  be  took  for  a 
revenue  officer  and  killed.  Oh,  I've  been  pun- 
ished for  my  hatefulness !  But  it's  all  right, 
isn't  it?  You  called  me — Alexa — just  now. 
It's  all  right,  isn't  it  ?" 

Dillon  evaded  her  clinging  hand.  "All 
right  ?  Of  course,  child.  There's  never  been 
anything  wrong." 

''How  sweet  and  forgiving  you  are!"  cried 
Alexa,  as  Dillon,  suddenly  turning,  strode  across 
the  room. 

"  What  an  unspeakably  foolish  thing  to  do  !" 
muttered  Dillon.  And  as  he  went  to  his  old 
seat  on  the  porch  a  perpetually  recurring  sense 
of  dissatisfaction  continued  to  oppress  him. 
He  tried  to  shake  it  off,  to  enjoy  the  evening 
quietude  and  regain  the  feeling  of  content 
which  had  been  his  so  little  earlier  in  the  day. 
But  countless  annoyances  seemed  to  pervade 


100  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

the  atmosphere  :  an  exasperating  chorus  of  in- 
sect noises  filled  the  beeches,  frogs  were  dole- 
fully croaking,  a  dog  barked  at  maddingly  exact 
intervals,  and  somewhere  across  the  porch  a 
man  was  relating  in  tones  of  loud  discontent  a 
grievance  against  the  village  blacksmith. 

"  Shoed  me  the  worst  job  I  ever  see  !  And 
when  I  says  to  'm,  '  This  mare's  huffs  ain't  right, 
Josh,^  blame  if  he  didn't  face  me  down  !  Yes, 
sir.  And  me  born,  y'  might  say,  with  a  bridle  in 
my  hand.  No,  sir ;  I  got  no  more  use  for  Josh. 
I  wouldn't  kerry  him  a  gourd  of  water  if  he 
lay  there  in  the  ditch  with  his  tongue  hanging 
out  the  len'th  of  my  arm !     That's  how  I  am." 

Dillon  got  up,  knocking  his  chair  aside  in  a 
fever  of  nervous  irritation.  Out  in  the  dark 
side-yard  he  strolled  back  and  forth  and  watched 
the  switch-light  glance  along  the  tracks,  plung- 
ing arrows  of  scarlet  into  the  dark  bosom  of 
the  night.  The  town  was  lost  in  shadows,  and 
as  he  paused  and  looked  down  upon  the  hol- 
low, its  pervasive  gloom  appeared  a  sort  of  visi- 
ble expression  of  his  own  feelings. 

"No,"  he  said  to  himself,  sharply,  "1  can't 
go  up  there  now  !"  And  as  Lucy's  face,  in  its 
soft  grace  of  girlishness,  crossed  his  mental 
vision,  he  groaned  and  dropped  his  head.  Yet, 
presently,  leaning  there  against  the  black  beech 
trunk;,  he  began  to  question  himself  as  to  the 


BOUND  m  {SHALLOWS  101 

color  of  his  offence.  After  all,  what  was  it — 
this  thing  that  tormented  him  so  in  the  remem- 
brance ?  Nothing  more  than  a  little  impulse 
of  sympathetic  kindness,  such  a  compunctions 
caress  as  one  might  give  to  a  child  whom  one 
has  unwittingly  hurt.  **I  am  straining  at 
gnats,"  he  muttered.  "Heavens  and  earth!  is 
there  to  be  no  pretty  courtesy  in  this  world  ? 
Must  a  man  go  his  way  in  perfectly  stolid  un- 
concern, looking  neither  to  the  left  nor  right  for 
fear  his  dangerous  smile  shall  set  off  the  easy 
tinder  of  some  school -girl's  heart?  Have  I 
grown  up  in  lilied  cloisters  that  I  should  begin 
to  have  painful  scruples  because  I  have  tossed 
a  kiss  to  a  village  girl  ?"  And  as  he  cast  his 
head  backward  in  a  little  sound  of  amused 
disgust  with  himself,  it  came  upon  him  that, 
in  point  of  actual  fact,  his  remorseful  qualms 
were  a  highly  encouraging  indication  of  some 
very  radical  difference  in  him.  They  showed 
what  seemed  to  be  a  change  in  his  attitude 
towards  life.  A  moral  or  spiritual  fineness 
which  he  had  long  believed  lost  forever  was 
developing  itself,  fresh  and  sensitive,  under 
the  dropping,  dry  remnants  of  his  old  self. 
That  was  it. 

Things,  after  all,  were  not  so  bad.  Perhaps 
they  were  better,  even,  than  he  could  precisely 
comprehend.     He  would  stroll  up  the  hill, 


108  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

he  decided,  not  to  stop  at  the  house  with  the 
coppice  of  roses,  not  to  see  Lucy  or  hold  any 
converse  with  her,  but  simply  to  see  the  roof 
that  sheltered  her  slant  darkly  against  the 
starry  stretch  of  upland  sky,  and  catch  a  breath 
of  the  flowers  she  tended,  and  perhaps  to 
glimpse  the  light  in  her  window,  the  flutter  of 
the  thin  curtains  behind  which  she  combed  out 
her  long,  shining  hair.  He  climbed  the  road  be- 
hind the  station  and  passed  the  hill  folk's  houses. 
The  rush  of  the  river  doubling  under  the  railway 
bridge  rose  in  stronger  murmurs,  and  far  out 
behind  the  dwellings  on  the  bluff  a  whippoor- 
will  uttered  its  gurgling  call.  Then  a  scent  of 
heavy  roses  wandered  through  the  dew-weight- 
ed darkness,  and  the  pickets  of  the  Morrows' 
fence  struck  white  upon  the  road-side  shadows. 
Some  one,  it  appeared,  was  standing  at  the  gate. 
As  Dillon  advanced  he  saw  that  it  was  Lucy ; 
while  behind  her  in  the  vine  -  covered  porch 
was  a  pleasant  sound  of  voices  and  a  soft  glow 
of  cheerful  light. 

"  You  are  back,  then  ?"  said  Lucy,  holding 
out  her  hand. 

She  ojiened  the  gate ;  and  as  she  did  this  Dil- 
lon hesitated.  "I  don't  think  I  was  coming  in 
to-night." 

She  seemed  a  little  surprised.  "Oh,"  she 
murmured,  "I  thought — " 


BOUND  IK  SHALLOWS  103 

*'I  wasn't  coming  in,"  said  Dillon,  slowly. 
**  I  happened  to  get  to  thinking  over  some  un- 
pleasant things  to-night,  and  it  didn't  seem  to 
me  as  if  I  would  be  justified  in  dragging  my 
shadows  through  your  rose-garden.  But  some- 
how those  shadows  don't  appear  to  be  so  pon- 
derous as  they  were  a  moment  ago.  I  should 
like  to  come  in,  if  you'll  let  me.  And  to  have  a 
flower,  too."  His  voice  rang  out  gayly  over  its 
little  undertone  of  sadness.  Lucy  laughed  as 
she  broke  off  a  green,  thorny  stem  in  the  hedge ; 
but  her  laugh  also  held  a  note  of  some  emo- 
tion that  was  not  gayety. 


IX 


With  the  advance  of  August  hazes  which 
had  all  summer  kept  their  distance,  crouching 
at  the  feet  of  the  farther  knobs,  began  stealth- 
ily to  approach  the  village,  winding  veils  of 
deep  blue  about  the  hills  and  blurring  the  fo- 
liage in  a  rich  obscurity.  From  the  valley  of 
the  South  Fork  a  cloud  as  of  blown  indigo 
seemed  to  hang  in  suspension.  Trees  lost  their 
greenness  in  it,  and  only  the  highest  tufts  of 
leaf  retained  an  emerald  tone.  The  rivers  were 
at  loAV  ebb ;  business  was  consequently  dull, 
though  a  hope  of  early  fall  ^' tides"  began  to 
enliven  the  loggers'  conversation,  and  a  story  of 
a  recent  rain  "up  yender  at  New  River"  was 
going  the  rounds  of  the  flats. 

"  Summer's  on  its  last  legs,"  announced 
Mrs.  Bohun,  observing  the  date  of  the  news- 
paper she  was  reading.  "W  know's  I  care 
much.  Though  having  fires  makes  work. 
Good  thing  I  never  took  down  any  of  the 
stoves !     They're  where  they  belong,  waiting  to 


B0X7in>  IS  SHALLOWS  106 

be  started  up  when  needed.  Of  course,  they're 
some  rusted  and  the  pipes  is  mostly  choked 
up ;  but  as  sure  as  I  was  to  have  'em  cleaned 
there'd  be  warm  weather  till  New  Year.  Best 
let  things  jog  along.  Paw,  I  see  the  paper 
states  they're  prospectin'  for  ile  over  in 
Wayne.  Well,  well !  it  looks  like  folks  is 
naturally  possessed  to  wear  themse'ves  out 
hunting  something  to  work  with.  I  'ain't  not 
a  mite  of  patience  with  such  doings." 

"  A  party  of  strangers  went  over  in  the  Mon- 
ticello  coach  Wednesday  was  a  week,"  said 
Bohun.  "I  understood  they  was  smellin' 
round  for  ile.  They'll  likely  stop  here  comin* 
back,  overnight  anyway,  for  to  get  the  train 
north.  Mebby  you  might  as  well  name  it  to 
Sa'  Jane  to  put  some  water  round  in  the  pitch- 
ers and  a  towel  apiece  in  the  rooms.  They  was 
high-tone  lookin'  fellers,  and  I'd  like  'em  to 
brag  up  the  house." 

A  night  or  so  afterwards,  as  Taliaferro  came 
in,  tired  and  dusty  with  a  ten  miles'  ride,  he 
saw  in  the  office  an  unusual  gathering  of  well- 
dressed  men.  The  oil  prospecting  in  Wayne 
occurred  to  him  in  a  kind  of  unification  with 
his  sense  of  something  familiar  in  the  air  of  a 
young  man  who  stood  leaning  over  the  regis- 
ter, and,  advancing  a  little,  he  said,  "  Graves, 
is  this  you  ?"    At  which  the  other  wheeled 


106  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

ronnd  with  an  exclamation  and  seized  him  in 
a  hearty  grasp. 

"  Is  it  me  ?  Well,  rather !  Been  asking 
about  you  every  five  minutes  since  supper. 
They  said  you'd  gone  to  Dick's  Jumps — Jove  ! 
— to  Dick's  Jumps  to  see  an  old  lady  who  had 
been  'took  suddint.'  I've  been  over  in  Wayne 
with  these  fellows  you  see  around.  Looking 
up  oil,  you  know.  Say,  Nat,  you're  not  looking 
up  to  the  mark.  Climate  ?  Overwork  ?  No  ? 
What  are  you  doing  down  here,  anyhow  ?  How 
about  Paris,  and  Berlin,  and  transatlantic  clin- 
ics, and  no  man  being  old  enough  to  practise 
medicine  till  he's  thirty  odd,  eh  ?  You  haven't 
lost  your  ambition,  have  you  ?  or  your  money  ? 
No;  I  thought  not.  You  weren't  that  style. 
Now,  me — but  I'm  a  model  for  the  youth  of  the 
land  these  days.  Marriage  is  a  wonderfully 
settling  thing.  And  there's  the  baby,  you  know. 
A  man  feels  different  when  he  has  a  little  fam- 
ily. By-the-way,  Nat,  how's  the  pretty  Miss 
Morrow,  who  visited  at  Colonel  Desha's  two 
summers  ago  ?  Ah-ha  !  lives  here,  eh  ?  M-m, 
I  begin  to  see.  Let's  get  outside,  where  we 
can  smoke  and  recall  old  times  when  we  were 
school -boys  down  in  Woodford.  I've  got  a 
tear  in  my  eye,  Nat.  I  was  always  a  sentimen- 
tal cuss." 

As  they  put  their  feet  on  the  rail  of  the 


BOinn)  IN  SHALLOWS  107 

porch's  beech  -  facing  end  Graves  pursued : 
"  Say,  Nat,  how  is  this  thing,  anyhow  ?  Con- 
gratulations in  order  ?" 

"  ril  tell  you  in  time,''  laughed  Taliaferro, 
rather  constrainedly.  "At  present,  John,  I 
want  to  hear  about  the  boy.  I  suppose  he's 
a  good  one  ?    Smart,  eh  ?" 

"  Smart  ?"  Graves's  keen  young  face  expand- 
ed. He  entered  upon  a  lavish  history  of  the 
boy's  six  months  of  brilliant  progress  through 
an  appreciative  world,  only  pausing  an  hour 
later  when  the  hotel  gate  banged  to  noisily 
and  footsteps  sounded  on  the  hotel  steps.  Ta- 
liaferro, glancing  round,  saw  that  it  was  Dillon, 
with  his  face  set  in  an  expression  of  abstraction 
and  serenity.  Without  doubt  he  had  come 
from  the  Morrows'.  Indeed,  he  was  always 
now  at  the  Morrows'  of  evenings,  so  it  seemed 
to  Taliaferro,  or,  in  these  days  of  slack  work, 
rowing  Lucy  and  Corinne  upon  the  river,  or 
looking  up  rare  ferns  for  Mrs.  Morrow. 

Taliaferro  had  come  to  understand  very  clear- 
ly how  matters  addressed  themselves.  Slowly, 
after  that  first  instant  of  anguished  apprehen- 
sion, he  had  grown  aware  that  his  own  part,  so 
far  as  regarded  the  dominating  emotion  of  life, 
was  with  the  baffled  many.  Watching  his  hopes 
blown  frustrate,  the  young  man  had  hours  of 
mental  sickness  and  depression ;  but  as  weeks 


108  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

passed  and  lie  schooled  himself  to  accept  his 
cup  of  hemlock  in  the  spirit  of  a  man,  a  kind 
of  fortitude  came  to  him.  He  told  himself 
that,  as  between  himself  and  Dillon,  it  was  not 
strange  at  all  that  Lucy  should  choose  as  she 
seemed  to  be  choosing.  Dillon,  with  his  mourn- 
ful charm,  his  gentle  ways,  his  confidences,  his 
illogical  bitterness,  which  appeared  to  mask  an 
infinite  tenderness  for  all  poor  souls  in  stress — 
Dillon  appealed  strongly  to  Taliaferro  himself  ; 
that  he  should  appeal  also  to  Lucy  was  only  in 
the  nature  of  things.  The  dead  level  of  life 
did  not  look  particularly  promising  to  Talia- 
ferro, having  caught  a  glimpse  of  dream -em- 
purpled peaks,  but  he  stayed  liimself  with  the 
resolution  to  tread  the  flat  ways  in  a  sturdy 
spirit,  without  the  meanness  of  envy  or  the  fu- 
tility of  regret. 

Yet  for  all  these  intentions  of  fairness  and 
friendliness  towards  Dillon  the  doctor  had  a 
pang  at  the  sight  of  the  tranquil  joyousness 
which  shone  in  the  young  man's  eyes  as  he 
crossed  the  porch.  Dillon  himself  seemed  not 
at  all  aware  of  the  figures  in  the  shadowy  porch 
end ;  he  stepped  into  the  ofiice,  absent  and 
smiling  a  little.  A  door  shut,  and  his  vanish- 
ing step  rang  from  the  bare  staircase. 

Graves  settled  back  in  his  chair.  The  ashes 
from  his  cigar  dropped  unheeded  on  his  knee. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  109 

"  So  he's  down  here,  is  he  ?"  he  said,  in  a  mus- 
ing tone.  "  I  believe  I  had  heard  that  he  was 
sequestering  himself  far  from  the  madding 
crowd."  And  he  added,  after  a  moment  in 
which  he  recalled  himself  to  his  cigar,  *^The 
hound  looked  quite  at  peace  with  himself." 

Taliaferro's  eyes  narrowed.  "  That's  a  devil- 
ish strong  term  to  fling  at  a  fellow,  John ;  you 
must  have  a  pretty  heavy  grievance — " 

*'  Grievance  ?  Me  ?  None  in  the  world.  The 
only  sentiment  I  have  for  Dillon  is  the  plain, 
simple  sentiment  of  reprobation  which  a  man 
who  is  passably  honest  may  naturally  feel  for 
a  man  who  isn't.  Dillon— J.  Burkely  Dillon, 
you  know — hasn't  been  fine  in  his  discrimina- 
tions regarding  the  use  of  capital — other  peo- 
ple's capital.  He's  used  money  that  wasn't 
his.  In  short,  but  for  his  uncle's  influence, 
personal  and  flnancial,  our  young  friend  would 
be  wearing  the  monotonous  garb  common  to 
such  as  tamper  with  the  laws  of  the  land  and 
get  found  out.  No,  I  don't  consider  that  I 
was  far  wrong  when  I  called  him  what  I 
did." 

It  had  grown  very  still.  Only  the  top  twigs 
of  the  beeches,  moving  in  the  damp  night  air, 
gave  off  a  faint,  foreboding  sound,  while  with 
a  stroke  as  of  light,  warning  fingers  a  drop  or 
two  of  rain  fell  sharply  on  the  vines. 


110  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

*'  You  see/'  resnmed  Graves,  a  little  uneasy 
at  Taliaferro's  silence,  which  seemed  as  if 
grounded  in  some  incredulity,  '^I  was  in  a 
position  to  know  about  this  matter.  My  wife 
was  a  Jonas,  you  remember.  And  as  her 
father  makes  his  home  with  us  I  got  my  in- 
formation pretty  straight.  The  old  man  was 
completely  broken  up  when  he  found  how 
Dillon  had  let  him  in.  Dillon  was  secretary 
with  the  Jonas  Lumber  Company — secretary  or 
something  on  a  very  confidential  scale,  in  con- 
sideration of  his  uncle's  interest  in  the  firm. 
He  had  every  chance  for  doing  the  Jonases, 
and  he  did  them.  He  wasn't  very  clever  about 
it.  I  don't  suppose  you  care  to  know  what  his 
method  was  ?  I  don't  believe  I  could  make  it 
clear,  anyhow ;  but  it  was  a  system  which  in 
moderation  might  have  been  successful  for  a 
long  time.  Dillon,  however,  isn't  moderate  in 
anything.  He  plunged.  And  the  bottom  fell 
out  of  the  profits  with  such  startling  force  that 
the  firm  began  to  investigate.  They  found 
out  very  soon  where  the  trouble  was.  They'd 
never  dreamed  of  it's  being  Dillon — so  defer- 
ential to  age,  so  modest  and  mild,  and  such  a 
favorite  withal  among  the  gilded  youth  !  The 
Jonases  were  crushed.  And  as  for  Dillon — 
well,  his  capacity  for  despair  is  about  the  deep- 
est capacity  he  has.    It  amounts  to  a  genius. 


BOUND  IK  SHALLOWS  111 

The  way  he —  Say,  Nat,  am  I  making  this 
thing  wearisome  ?  You're  not  asleep,  eh  ?" 
"Asleep  ?  No,  no,  I'm  not  asleep.  Go  on." 
"  Oh,  that's  about  all.  Old  Burkely  straight- 
ened the  balance.  There  was  a  lot  to  pay,  and 
it  crippled  him  considerably,  I  understand. 
Jove,  if  ever  a  man  should  have  suffered  the 
reward  of  his  sins  it  was  Dillon  !  No  poor 
devil,  mind  you,  tempted  to  borrow  funds  for 
a  sure-to-succeed  scheme.  No  chap  with  press- 
ing debts,  an  extravagant  family,  or  any  of  the 
excuses  common  in  these  cases.  But  just  a 
fellow  belonging  to  the  common  herd  of  prof- 
ligates, requiring  for  a  loose  life  more  money 
than  he  could  lawfully  command.  That's  all. 
No  speculations.  No  hopes  of  paying  the '  loan ' 
back.  Nothing  but  a  desire  of  keeping  up  some- 
how, anyhow,  his  end  of  the  rope.  Oh,  they 
uncovered  some  rare  Daphnic  bits  in  Dillon's 
young  career,  I  can  assure  you  !  Gad,  it  makes 
me  sore  to  think  how  the  whole  thing  was 
hushed  up — glossed  over  !  Every  one  pledged 
to  silence,  you  know,  and  a  general  regret  that 
Mr.  Dillon's  health  should  require  him  to  give 
up  business  for  a  time." 

Taliaferro  drew  a  breath,  and  Graves  added : 
"Of  course,  my  telling  you  all  this  doesn't 
count.  I've  always  told  you  everything,  haven't 
I  ?    Seeing  him  around  brought  it  out  rather 


112  BOUND  m  SHALLOWS 

unexpectedly."  He  yawned.  "  Half -past  elev- 
en. Maybe  we  better  tnrn  in.  See  here,  Nat, 
you're  keeping  up  a  kind  of  aggressive  silence, 
aren't  you  ?  It  can't  be  that  you  and  Dillon 
have  vamped  up  any  sort  of  friendship,  can 
it,  that  makes  you  find  what  I've  said  par- 
ticularly uncomfortable,  eh  ?  His  doings  are 
nothing  to  you,  are  they  ?  You're  not  mixed 
up  with  them  in  any  way  ?" 

Taliaferro  had  risen  too,  but  there  was  an 
unsteadiness  in  his  movement,  and  his  rugged 
features  looked  gray  and  shaken.  "  No,"  he 
said,  thrusting  back  his  rough,  thick  hair  in  a 
confused  sort  of  way,  "I'm  not  mixed  up  with 
him  that  I  knoAv  of — at  least,  not  in  any  way 
it  would  be  easy  to — to  explain." 


It  was  two  weeks  or  more  since  Dillon,  npon 
his  return  from  the  South  Fork  expedition,  had 
stopped  in  the  hotel  parlor  for  that  little  talk 
with  Alexa  which  had  afterwards  rendered  him 
so  compunctious.  He  had  quickly  decided,  in- 
deed, that  there  was  something  quite  creditable 
and  encouraging  in  the  impulse  to  which  he 
had  yielded  upon  this  occasion,  yet  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  would  be  advisable  to  avoid  Alexa 
as  much  as  might  be  in  the  future  was  forced 
on  him  by  his  remembrance  of  the  girl's  tears 
and  confession.  He  had  based  his  ideas  of  her 
upon  the  air  of  overture,  the  smiles  and  gleams 
and  bridlings  and  flutterings  with  which  Alexa 
first  manifested  herself  to  his  consciousness ; 
but  since  the  moment  in  which  she  had  clung 
to  his  arm  half  sobbing,  surrendering  herself  to 
that  artless  narrative  of  her  sufferings  in  his  ab- 
sence, her  small  cares  for  his  comfort,  her  anxi- 
eties and  self-reproaches  and  final  relief  that 
now  all  was  "  right "  between  them,  Dillon  had 


k 


114  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

not  been  so  sure  that  Alexa  was  so  slight  and 
soulless  a  creature  as  he  had  imagined. 

He  hoped  that  she  would  refer  his  consoling 
caress  to  the  category  of  general  humaneness. 
When  he  saw  her  again,  however,  a  day  or  so 
later,  it  was  instantly  plain  to  him  that  Alexa 
had  taken  the  matter  in  the  broadest  possible 
way,  without  reasoning  about  it  at  all,  or  seek- 
ing to  run  it  down  to  the  exact  emotional  source 
from  which  it  might  be  derivable.  She  thought 
simply  that  he  had  comforted  her  through  an 
instinct  of  tenderness.  Dillon  had  feared  that 
this  would  be  her  interpretation ;  and  when  he 
observed  that  she  regarded  him  with  believ- 
ing eyes  in  which  an  unmistakable  happiness 
brooded,  he  realized  the  justice  of  his  fore- 
bodings. 

Nor  was  it  so  easy  to  avoid  her  in  their  nar- 
row life.  He  managed  it  Avith  infinite  diffi- 
culty ;  and  in  the  times  which  ensued  he  efiect- 
ually  proved  to  himself  the  futility  of  his  re- 
sources. For  it  appeared  that  whenever  reason 
and  resolution  enabled  him  for  a  while  to  elude 
Alexa,  or  to  use  her  with  coldness  and  uncon- 
cern, such  occasions  were  sure  to  be  followed 
with  hours  of  pitying  remorse,  when,  by  being 
particularly  kind  to  the  girl,  he  undid  the  salu- 
tary effects  of  his  wiser  attitude.  He  hated  be- 
yond all  things  the  sight  of  suffering ;  and  when 


BOUND  IN  SI^ALLOWS 


lis 


Alexa,  meeting  him  about  the  honse,  fixed  her 
great,  expectant  eyes  upon  him  in  a  shrinking, 
questioning  way,  he  found  it  less  and  less  easy 
to  pass  her  with  only  a  chill  word  of  greeting. 
At  such  times  her  face  whitened  so  suddenly, 
her  lips  trembled  so  piteously,  that  he  usually 
turned  back  with  a  bantering  phrase  or  a  light 
caress,  so  as  to  bring  life  to  her  looks  again  and 
prevent  himself  from  remembering  her  in  an 
aspect  of  sorrow  and  reproach. 

One  morning  in  the  end  of  August,  as  he 
crossed  the  little  passage  between  the  stairway 
and  the  office,  Alexa  opened  the  door  of  the 
family-room,  and,  at  seeing  him,  feigned  a  poor 
surprise.  "Oh  I"  she  said,  "1  didn't  know  it 
was  you." 

Dillon  halted,  a  little  annoyed  at  the  prospect 
of  a  delay,  for  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Mor- 
rows', having  arranged  to  row  Lucy  and  her 
mother  and  the  little  sister  as  far  as  the  cas- 
cade which,  a  short  way  below  the  juncture  of 
the  rivers,  hangs  the  cliffs  of  the  Cumberland 
in  a  hoary  beard  of  spray. 

*'Were  you  wanting  to  see  me  about  any- 
thing ?"  he  asked,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,"  faltered  Alexa,  in  a 
changed  voice.  "  I  just  thought  if  it  was  you 
I'd  tell  you  that  book  of  war-songs  I  sent  for 
has  come.     The  music  looks  right  catchy;  I 


116  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

could  play  some  of  the  pieces  for  you  to-night 
if  you  wanted  me  to." 

''  Thank  you.  I  shall  probably  have  letters 
to  write  to-night."  With  his  hand  on  the 
office  door  he  added  :  "I  shall  have  to  go,  Fm 
afraid.     Good-bye." 

Alexa  made  a  trembling  little  forward  step. 
''Good-bye/'  she  said,  faintly.  "There's  a 
thread  on  your  coat.     Wait !  here  it  is." 

Dillon  regarded  the  bit  of  lint.  He  saw  that 
the  fingers  which  held  it  were  unsteady  and  that 
Alexa's  face  was  quivering.  And  seeing  these 
things  he  laid  his  hand  reassuringly  upon  her 
black  braids,  saying,  ''After  all,  Alexa,  I 
think  I  may  get  my  writing  done  before  night. 
There  I  you  are  like  yourself  again,  bright  and 
smiling." 

Outside  it  was  clear  and  bright,  with  an 
autumnal  crispness  in  the  air  that  comported 
with  the  autumnal  scarlet  tufting  the  side  of 
the  sphinx  knob  and  flaming  from  the  ledgy 
brow  where  the  general's  signals  had  burned 
years  before.  Leafage  everywhere  was  thin- 
ning, though  in  only  a  slight  way,  which  as  yet 
scarcely  permitted  the  church  and  half-dozen 
houses  of  a  neighboring  hamlet  on  a  hill  across 
the  river  to  disclose  their  outlines  more  defi- 
nitely than  in  midsummer.  Somewhere  up 
about  the  railway  trestle  they  were  blasting 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  117 

rock,  and  the  booming  echoes  crashed  back  on 
every  side  from  the  hollow  slopes.  Below, 
through  the  rich  greenness  of  the  valley,  the 
red  chnrch  spire  thrust  itself  like  a  stained 
dagger,  and  around  it  the  dense  leaves,  moving 
slightly,  seemed  to  shudder  as  if  from  a  wound- 
ing impact.  Straggling  scraps  of  yellow  corn- 
field patched  the  lush  lands  here  and  there, 
and  among  them  a  little  gleam  of  water  winced 
in  the  sun.  Nothing  stirred  in  the  lower 
roads,  but  up  the  hill  a  herd  of  dun  cattle  were 
pushing  four  or  five  abreast,  and  the  long 
horns  of  the  foremost  ranks,  arching  against 
the  heaving  mass,  resembled  a  low  flight  of 
gulls  on  a  ground  of  deep  red.  Along  the 
tracks,  too,  Lete  Haight  was  trailing  her  sleazy 
cottons,  dragging  by  his  fat,  reluctant  hand 
her  yellow-haired  child.  The  baby  kept  up  a 
lusty  roar  of  displeasure  as  his  mother  pulled 
him  on,  and  tears  and  molasses  mingled  in  a 
streaked  glaze  on  his  ruddy  cheeks. 

"  Poor,  poor  creature,"  breathed  Mrs.  Mor- 
row, regarding  the  vacant,  shameless,  child- 
like face,  as  she  and  Lucy  came  round  the 
station.  "  It  does  seem  as  if  we  ought  to  do 
something  for  her.  Oh,  good-morning,  Mr. 
Dillon.  We  expected  to  meet  you  at  the  mill 
chute.     Now  we  can  all  go  down  together." 

Up  towards  the  boom-float  men  were  work- 


118  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

ing  with  long  pike -poles,  loosening  the  im- 
prisoned drift  and  a  few  staves  and  ties  which 
had  come  down  the  stream  in  some  scant  rise. 
Thick  spume  heaved  along  shore,  and  the  sides 
of  Dillon's  skiff  were  painted  yellow  with  the 
cheesy  froth.  Dull  purple  flowers  sweetened 
the  air.  The  herbage  gave  off  a  dry,  nutty 
savor,  and  the  searching  smell  of  Avet  wood  and 
damp  sawdust  mixed  with  the  odors  of  flowers 
and  grass. 

The  man  who  had  succeeded  Boliun  in  the 
management  of  the  boom-house  paddled  by  in 
a  dugout,  lifting  his  hairy  face  and  calling 
"  Howdy,  all !"  to  the  party  embarking  at  the 
mill  chute.  "Mighty  heavy  pullin'  through 
the  dead  water  yender,''  he  warned  Dillon,  as 
the  young  man  set  the  oars  and  laid  the  boat 
about.  Dillon's  straw  hat  was  pushed  back, 
leaving  an  untanned  strip  of  forehead  visible 
below  the  rim.  His  eyes  were  clear  and  bright, 
and  Lucy  noticed  how  well  he  looked  burned 
to  a  healthy  brown  and  with  strength  in  his 
long,  skilful  stroke. 

The  skiff  shot  from  the  branch  into  the 
wider  stream,  the  banks  of  which  were  ribbed 
with  last-year  logs  and  thatched  with  culls  and 
strips  of  black  wane.  In  a  moment  the  village 
had  slipped  from  sight  behind  a  sudden  bend 
in  the  shore,  and  only  a  magenta  end  of  the 


BOUKD  IK  BHAIiLOWC)  119 

mill  roof,  peeping  curiously  out,  remained  to 
mark  its  site.  The  turn  of  the  current  brought 
too  a  sharp  clash  of  water  to  the  ear,  and  a 
stroke  or  so  more  developed  to  the  left  a 
wooded  steep  which  seemed  to  reach  into  the 
far  blueness  of  the  morning  sky.  Over  the 
precipice  a  crystal  sheet,  fretted  into  flashing 
bubbles  and  tossing  foam,  broke  from  the  fern- 
hung  maw  of  a  cave  below  the  brow  of  the 
bluff.  Great  twisted  trees  grew  about  the  pool 
into  which  the  cataract  splashed  some  little 
way  above  the  river  level ;  and  around  them, 
and  indeed  everywhere  along  the  path  in  the 
craggy  rise,  were  mossy  rocks  and  broomy 
sedges  and  tall  ferns  and  gadding  brambles 
and  a  marigold  waste  of  fall  flowers,  wide 
petal ed  and  abundant,  while  from  the  noisy 
lips  of  the  cave  delicate  fronds  of  maidenhair 
waved  their  black-threaded  lengths,  misted  in 
a  whirl  of  shining  spray. 

Dillon  moored  the  boat,  and  they  began  to 
climb  the  jagged  path  which  led  along  a  mill 
stream  deflecting  from  the  pool,  and  up  around 
the  mill  itself,  an  aged  structure,  rumbling 
to  the  movements  of  a  huge  overshot-wheel. 
Lucy  and  Corinne  went  ahead,  and  Dillon,  as 
he  helped  Mrs.  Morrow  through  the  brambles 
and  stones,  was  more  distinctly  aware  of  the 
blue  flutter  of  Lucy's  skirts  in  the  low  green- 


120  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

ness  before  him  than  of  Mrs.  Morrow's  pant- 
ing but  enthusiastic  comments  upon  the  beauty 
of  the  scene. 

"How  soothing  the  sound  of  falling  water 
is  I"  gasped  Mrs.  Morrow,  with  breathless  rapt- 
ure in  her  sentimental  profile.  They  had 
reached  the  basin  of  rock  which  spreads  its 
green  circle  below  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and 
as  they  came  in  range  of  the  yawning  hole  in 
the  bluff  a  breath  of  cold  air  rushed  sharp  and 
sudden  upon  them,  bursting  from  the  cavern 
with  the  thick  and  as  yet  unbroken  outflow  of 
the  underground  stream.  "And  this  delicious 
coolness!''  cried  Mrs.  Morrow.  "Do  let  me 
sit  where  I  can  enjoy  it.  Corinne,  dear,  there 
are  some  pretty  stones.  Suppose  you  build  a 
little  house  here  beside  mother.  And  Lucy, 
while  I  rest,  you  might  take  Mr.  Dillon  to 
the  spring.  I  should  like  some  water,  if  you 
find  a  gourd  there,  or  anything  to  drink  out 
of." 

The  spring  was  not  far  away,  a  tinkle  of  cool 
silver  ledged  in  limestone  in  a  solitude  of  oak 
saplings  and  ferns.  All  around  it  the  ground 
wore  a  moist  richness  of  sward ;  and  when  Dil- 
lon, after  they  had  tasted  the  water  and  specu- 
lated upon  its  probable  mineral  constituents, 
threw  himself  into  a  comfortably  reclining  po- 
sition upon  the  grass,  Lucy  said,  "  Aren't  you 


BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS  121 

afraid  of  taking  cold  ?  It  looks  very  damp." 
She  herself  was  sitting  in  a  hollow  of  a  rock, 
whose  gray  sides  arched  above  her  like  a  shrine. 
Her  blue  cotton  dress,  dull  but  definite  in  its 
color,  hung  below  her  feet  in  straight  folds, 
while  directly  across  her  face  a  shaft  of  sun- 
light, making  way  between  the  trees,  fell  in  a 
strange  effect  of  illumination,  gilding  the  stone 
arch  overhead  and  falling  in  a  mild  lustre  upon 
the  herbage  at  the  rock's  base.  Behind  her 
deepened  a  narrow  sky,  speared  with  a  dark 
tuft  or  so  of  brush  and  the  slender  spire  of  a 
single  birch,  white  and  virginal  in  its  isola- 
tion. "Really,"  she  repeated,  "it  isn't  safe 
to  sit  on  this  moist  ground." 

Dillon,  looking  up  at  her,  had  been  lost  in  a 
thought  of  a  strait  Judean  landscape,  darkly 
blue  and  green,  and  ringed  with  faint  gold 
above  a  lifted  face.  At  the  simple  common- 
place of  her  words  he  started,  with  a  sense  of 
remote  pain.  How  passionless  her  voice  was ! 
How  impersonal  her  solicitude  ! 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  makes  much  difference 
to  me  whether  it's  safe  or  not !"  he  flung  out, 
in  a  petulant  accent,  plucking  a  few  filaments 
of  crimson  silk  from  the  spiny  hold  of  a  thistle 
growing  hard  by  him.  ''  Of  course,  a  cold  in 
the  head  isn't  pleasant  or  romantic  exactly. 
But  I've  no  doubt  that  properly  neglected  it 


138  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

lias  served  to  end  more  than  one  fellow's  vain 
bout  with  fate/' 

Lncy  was  smiling  as  she  asked,  ''Do  you 
want  yours  to  end  ?" 

Dillon  deliberated  for  a  moment.  Lucy's 
cheerful  expression  put  him  out  a  little,  and 
presently,  in  an  almost  bitter  way,  he  said, 
"What  have  I  to  live  for  ?" 

Lucy  began  to  feel  the  Aveight  of  his  mood 
and  the  obligation  of  removing  his  gloom. 
"  Haven't  you  as  much  as  others  have  ?"  she 
asked,  "more,  even,  than  most  people  ?" 

"Me?    More?" 

"  Yes.  You  are  young  and  well.  You  have 
friends — " 

"  Friends  !"  he  burst  out.  "  Friends  !  Oh, 
Lucy,  do  you  suppose  any  number  of  friends — 
even  if  I  had  them — would  mean  anything  to 
me  now  ?  That  the  good-will  of  the  universe 
could  give  me  a  moment's  satisfaction,  unless 
you—"  He  left  off  brokenly.  "  This  defiled 
hand  of  mine,  Lucy,"  in  a  little  while  he  said, 
recovering  his  voice,  "dare  I  ask  you  to  take 
it  ?  You,  in  whom  mercy  and  truth  meet  so 
graciously  ?  Lucy,  Lucy,  there  is  not  a 
thought  of  mine  that  isn't  vested  in  you !  But 
my  life  is  in  ruins.  I  am  clothed  in  ashes. 
That  is  why,  though  I  love  you  so  much,  I 
hardly  dare  ask  you  to  lift  me  up  and  shine 


BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS  133 

upon  my  darkness  and  save  me.  Yet  I  do  ask 
it,  my  love,  my  hope  !  I  ask  it,  in  spite  of  my 
unworthiness,  because  you  are  so  dear  to  me  !" 

He  had  drawn  close  to  the  hollow  rock  in 
which  she  sat  listening  mutely,  and  he  leaned 
upon  the  ledge  beside  her,  white-lipped,  with 
all  the  blue  gone  from  his  eyes  in  the  widen- 
ing of  the  pupils.  In  speaking  to  her  he  had 
used  expressions  commoner  in  prayer  than  in 
a  plea  of  love,  such  phrases  as  are  natural 
when  men  entreat  mercy  and  salvation  from 
God.  If  Lucy  felt  this  at  all,  the  perception 
reached  her  in  an  aura  of  flattering  persuasion, 
and  she  caught  her  breath  and  looked  away. 

"  Darling,"  breathed  Dillon,  "  will  you  cast 
off  this  poor,  unstable  soul  ?  It  rests  in  you 
for  redemption,  Lucy." 

At  this  Lucy  seemed  to  him  to  tremble  and 
to  grow  very  white.  "  Oh,"  she  faltered,  *'am 
I  so  much  to  you  as  that  ?  ...  so  much  ?  .  .  . 
then  ..."  She  did  not  finish  this  sentence  in 
any  actual  words  ;  but  she  leaned  forward  with 
a  touching  little  gesture  and  laid  her  hand 
across  his  questioning  eyes,  so  that  he  might 
not  see  the  color  which  she  felt  rising  to  her 
face. 


XI 


Upon"  hearing  Graves's  disclosure  regarding 
Dillon,  Taliaferro's  first  feeling  was  one  of 
bitter  indignation  that  a  man  whose  life  had 
been  conformable  with  propensities  of  so  ques- 
tionable a  kind  should  have  been  for  a  whole 
summer  in  almost  daily  association  with  Lucy. 
The  doctor's  kindly  sentiment  towards  Dillon 
suffered  a  complete  change.  He  had  been  like 
an  ineloquent  priest,  who  in  a  day  of  solemn 
festival  sees  the  rites  of  a  beloved  and  famil- 
iar altar  administered  by  hands  ordained  to 
higher  service  than  his  own,  but  who,  since 
his  gods  are  honored,  is  not  without  comfort, 
though  he  may  not  choose  but  be  heavy- 
hearted  at  having  no  share  in  the  pouring  of 
the  oil  and  the  lighting  of  the  tapers.  Now 
he  felt  simply  like  one  who  views  his  shrines 
in  a  desecrating  hand,  and  the  angry  vigor  of 
his  impulse  to  immediate  action  almost  startled 
him. 

All  night  long  as  Taliaferro  dwelt  upon  the 


BOUND  IN  SHAIiLOWS  126 

matter  his  conclusions  pivoted  forever  round  to 
the  same  unalterable  point :  that  the  Morrows 
must  know  what  manner  of  man  sat  above  their 
salt.  Taliaferro  could  not  decide  to  what  extent 
Lucy  would  suffer  in  the  knowledge ;  but  he 
said  to  himself  that  whatever  her  pain  in  it 
might  be,  it  was  necessary  that  Dillon's  defec- 
tions should  be  made  plain  to  her.  Dillon  had 
wrought  dishonor;  he  was  of  those  in  whose 
way  are  destruction  and  misery ;  yet  as  the  sky 
yellowed  for  dawn  and  the  morning-star  failed 
in  a  bank  of  primrose,  Taliaferro,  bitter  in  his 
estimate  of  Dillon's  actions,  found  himself  sud- 
denly remembering  that  it  is  not  inconsistent 
with  the  plan  of  our  common  nature  for  men 
to  have  good  and  bad  in  them.  The  bad  was, 
of  course,  particularly  obvious  just  now  in 
Dillon ;  but  the  doctor  could  not  say  that  active 
principles  of  virtue  might  not  lurk  in  the 
young  man's  character,  strong  in  their  possi- 
bilities of  growth.  While  it  did  not  seem  to 
Taliaferro  that  active  potentiality  of  any  sort 
inhered  in  Dillon,  he  admitted  that  Dillon  had 
gentle  attributes,  and  that  nothing  in  him  sug- 
gested the  reprobate  mind  or  calloused  con- 
science. It  seemed,  too,  that  having  a  capacity 
for  remorse,  Dillon's  moral  sensibilities  must 
still  be  fine,  though  Taliaferro  felt  a  natural 
doubt  as  to  whether  Dillon's  overwhelming 


126  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

penitence  miglit  not  have  been  infinitely  de- 
layed but  for  the  incident  of  the  discovery  of 
Dillon^s  dishonesty.  The  emotional  disturbance 
of  a  man  whose  sin  has  been  found  out  cannot 
always  be  relied  upon  to  indicate  a  total  rever- 
sion of  moral  sentiment.  Shame  is  not  remorse ; 
nor,  considered  Taliaferro,  in  view  of  Dillon's 
mildness,  does  it  follow  that  a  person  who  avoids 
treading  on  a  worm  may  not  be  capable  of  do- 
ing despite  to  his  brother. 

Taliaferro  felt  his  ground  equally  uncertain 
when,  sitting  on  the  side  of  his  bed  and  recall- 
ing Dillon's  personal  traits,  he  made  an  effort 
in  as  unprejudiced  a  spirit  as  he  could  com- 
mand to  adduce  from  them  a  testimony  upon 
the  essential  quality  of  the  man.  For  by  this 
time  it  began  to  seem  to  the  doctor  that  if  Dil- 
lon was  really  changed  and  had  sufficient  energy 
of  temperament  to  hold  a  clean  and  upright 
walk  henceforward  through  life,  any  one  who 
should  stop  his  progress  by  casting  upon  him 
mud  from  the  mire  of  his  past  might  be  doing 
an  extremely  reprehensible  thing.  Dillon's 
eyes  with  their  peculiar  nervous  characteris- 
tics, Dillon's  long  hands  with  their  slender  un- 
certainty, recurred  to  Taliaferro  in  a  way  that 
for  the  instant  was  subtly  corroborative  of  his 
own  ideas  regarding  the  young  man's  fallible 
nature ;  but  with  a  qualm  of  repulsion  the  doc- 


BOimD  IN  SHALLOWS  127 

tor  thrust  aside  the  impression.  Whatever 
truth  might  lie  in  the  science  which  under- 
takes to  formulate  the  physical  signs  diagnos- 
tic of  the  irreclaimable  delinquent,  Taliaferro 
felt  that  this  was  as  yet  invested  with  too  many 
inaccuracies  to  justify  its  use.  There  was 
something  in  the  tribunal  of  the  flesh  which 
appeared  to  him  to  a  large  degree  arbitrary. 
But  in  foregoing  resource  to  it  he  asked  himself 
if  Dillon,  in  concealing  a  certain  episode  from 
the  Morrow  family,  had  not  been  a  little  more 
culpable  than  was  consistent  with  any  improved 
standard  of  honor  in  him. 

For  it  seemed  as  if  deception  had  been  prac- 
tised. Taliaferro  knew  too  well  Major  Morrow's 
simple,  severe  ideas  to  be  able  to  conceive  that 
the  old  soldier  would  readily  admit  in  familiar 
friendship  a  man  blemished  after  Dillon's  fash- 
ion. The  doctor  veered,  therefore,  to  his 
earlier  belief,  that  the  Morrows  must  not  re- 
main longer  in  ignorance.  And  thus  deciding, 
Taliaferro  felt  himself  shrinking  from  the  bur- 
den of  the  bitter  and  thankless  task  which 
seemed  upon  him.  By  the  general  suffrage  of 
humanity  the  tale-bearer  is  held  to  be  rather 
more  worthy  of  contumely  than  the  wrong- 
doer upon  whom  he  informs,  and  moral  repro- 
bation is  always  considerably  easier  to  bear 
than  contempt.     Lucy,  without  doubt,  would 


128  BOUND  DT  SHALLOWS 

despise  liim,  Taliaferro  knew.  Sitting  by  him- 
self under  the  beeches  that  night,  Avorn  with 
conflicting  ideas,  he  called  up  her  image  and 
figured  the  disdaining  poise  of  her  fair  head, 
the  curl  of  her  smooth  lips,  as  she  would  glance 
upon  him  when  she  understood  that  it  was  he 
who  had  carried  this  shameful  story. 

He  dropped  his  rough  head  and  groaned.  It 
was  passing  towards  dusk ;  the  sun  had  his  chin 
on  the  hills,  and,  stretching  lazily  out  a  rosy  fin- 
ger or  two,  laid  them  warmly  upon  the  cold 
cheek  of  the  shaded  earth  beneath  the  beeches. 
The  color  lingered  there  for  a  moment ;  then 
the  red  faded,  and  the  grass  was  less  green  with 
its  vanishing.  A  man  in  a  long  coat  and  flat 
hat  was  coming  up  the  hotel  path.  He  looked 
towards  the  solitary  figure  under  the  trees,  and 
came  nearer,  and  said,  "  Good-evening,  doctor. 
Will  I  disturb  you  if  I  sit  down  with  you  a  mo- 
ment ?" 

Taliaferro  made  room  on  the  bench,  apolo- 
gizing for  the  abstraction  which  had  made  him 
deaf  to  the  preacher^s  approach.  The  preacher 
gazed  dreamily  upon  the  shadowy  valley.  He 
had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  the  gray  hair  on  his 
neck  stirred  a  little  in  the  air. 

*'I  was  on  my  way  to  speak  with  Mrs.  Bo- 
hun,''  he  said.  *'  But  seeing  you  here  made 
me  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  rest  for  a  few 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  129 

minutes.  I  believe  I  am  tired."  He  sighed, 
and  finished  by  saying,  "I  have  come  from  a 
house  of  mourning  —  no,  doctor,  it  is  no  pa- 
tient of  yours  who  is  dead.  He  who  has  gone 
home  was  only  an  outcast.  Probably  death's 
seal  on  his  childish  lips  is  the  kindest  touch 
ever  laid  there.  I  speak  of  the  poor  little  one 
whose  mother  is  the  wretched  woman  living 
under  the  trestle.  He  died  of  neglect  as  much 
as  of  any  serious  disorder,  I  imagine.  It  was 
only  by  chance  that  I  heard  of  it.  I  found 
the  mother  alone  with  her  dead,  sitting  on  the 
door-step,  and  looking  up  and  down  the  road 
with  apparent  unconcern." 

Taliaferro  exclaimed,  "How  well  off  he  is 
to  be  out  of  it  all,  with  such  a  weight  of  hered- 
ity and  such  surroundings !" 

*'  So  the  woman  said — at  least,  she  signified 
as  much  by  remarking,  '  I  ain't  grievin'  none. 
He's  took  from  trouble.' "  The  preacher  passed 
a  hand  over  his  eyes.  He  was  the  same  man 
who,  in  another  Kentucky  town,  ugly  and  out- 
worn where  Streamlet  was  beautiful  and  rich 
in  promise,  had  on  a  certain  morning  stood 
beside  the  sorrowful  figure  of  old  Bob  Valley 
and  read  the  burial  service  of  the  girl  whose 
early  death  left  her  father  so  desolate.  "  I  have 
been  very  remiss,"  he  resumed.  "  I  have  not 
striven  as  I  should  to  waken  this  poor  girl  to 


180  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

a  sense  of  her  condition.  I  have  often  spoken 
with  her,  indeed,  hut  I  have  let  myself  be 
disheartened  by  the  stolid  wonder,  the  heavy 
apathy  which  I  encountered  in  her.  Now," 
he  pressed  on — "  now  I  must  try  to  make  up 
for  my  lukewarmness.  I  must  see  if  we  cannot 
set  her  in  ways  of  honest  service.  That  was 
my  mission  here  this  evening — to  consult  Mrs. 
Bohun  upon  the  chances  of  work  and  a  home 
for  this  woman.  We  are  indeed  slack  servants 
of  our  Master  if  we  do  not  strive  with  such  as 
are  a  reproach  among  us  and  dead  in  sin." 

Taliaferro  was  sunk  in  silent  deliberation. 
Presently  he  asked,  "  Do  you  believe,  then,  that 
all  sin  and  suffering  and  shame  and  wretch- 
edness are  removable  from  the  world,  and  that 
it  is  our  duty  to  try  to  remove  them  ?"  The 
preacher  looked  surprised. 

"  Of  what  use  is  the  lesson  of  Christ's  min- 
istry," he  propounded,  with  an  accent  of  re- 
proach, ''  if  we  who  walk  after  him  do  not 
also  comfort  the  sorrowing,  visit  the  imjaris- 
oned,  and  labor  with  the  perverse  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  meant  to  question  the  uses 
of  kindliness  and  mercy  and  charity,"  said  Ta- 
liaferro. "But  I  have  just  been  wondering  if 
perhaps  a  man's  first  duty  may  not  imply  right 
living  in  a  passive  way  rather  than  in  a  per- 
petual running  after  those  who  seem  to  have 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  131 

a  natural  instinct  for  miring  themselves  in  the 
world's  mud.  Isn't  it  enough  to  render  men 
their  dues  and  attend  to  one's  own  affairs  ?  Or, 
after  all,  is  it  nobler  to  risk  the  entanglements 
and  stains  that  come  of  occupying  ourselves 
with  the  sins  and  moral  sicknesses  of  others  ? 
Sometimes  I  have  almost  believed  that  what 
concerns  others  is  eternal,  and  that  one  would 
be  presumptuous  to  interfere,  even  with  the 
best  intentions." 

The  preacher  looked  aghast,  and  inquired, 
''  Is  all  life  to  be  sunk  in  egoism,  and  unselfish- 
ness and  sacrifice  and  philanthropy  to  be  wiped 
out  ?" 

Taliaferro  said,  gently,  *^Is  egoism  less  nat- 
ural and  honorable  than  altruism  ?  Or  is  un- 
selfishness not,  in  real  truth,  at  the  base  of 
many  evils  ?  Often,  lately,  when  I  read  that 
crime  is  increasing  steadily  everywhere,  it  has 
seemed  plain  to  me  that  unwise  benevolence 
is  at  the  source  of  the  growth  of  many  of  these 
social  wrongs.  I  think  we  are  suffering  from 
our  philanthropy — from  our  weak,  mistakenly 
kind  way  of  dealing  with  crime." 

"  We  can't  very  well  relapse  into  barbarism, 
doctor." 

"No.  It  mightn't  be  bad  if  we  could,  in 
certain  directions.  Sin  and  the  penalty  of  sin 
among  savages  have  an  immediate  relation,  you 


132  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

know.  Now  that  we  have  grown  in  culture, 
and  the  simple  law  of  like  for  like  offends  our 
sensibilities,  the  malefactor  feels  pardonably 
secure.  He  knows  that  justice  suffers  long 
and  is  kind ;  that  if  the  worst  happens,  pris- 
ons are  very  comfortable  places  ;  and  that  even 
if  he  is  ungovernable  and  vicious  under  re- 
straint, no  prison  official  will  dare  to  punish 
him  with  any  severity,  for  fear  the  whole  world 
should  rise  up  in  a  wail  of  horror.  The 
worst  so  seldom  happens,  however,  that,  as  a 
recent  statistician  has  pointed  out,  the  profes- 
sion of  a  criminal  offers  greater  profits  and 
fewer  risks  than  any  other  career  open  to  the 
indolent  poor.  Humanitarianism  has  some- 
thing of  this  to  answer  for.  It  has  taught  us 
so  to  falter  and  palter  over  the  disturber  of  our 
peace,  so  to  weigh  his  health,  sanity,  grievances, 
genealogy,  and  motives,  that  his  sin  gets  over- 
looked. The  greatest  good  to  the  wrong-doer 
is  apparently  what  we  are  tenderly  and  piously 
considering,  and  how  far  we  can  make  the  way 
of  the  transgressor  agreeable  and  safe.  That 
is  why  I  say  that  philanthropic  motives  may 
be  productive  of  endless  social  demoralization." 
"Well,"  hesitated  the  preacher,  "charity 
must  guide  us  —  the  charity  that  hopeth  all 
things.  If  the  seed  we  cast  forth  with  prayer 
springs  up  in  thistles,  it  is  not  for  us  to  dwell 


BOUND  IN  SHALliOWS  133 

on.  The  wheat  must  some  time  reveal  itself. 
We  must  continue  to  use  all  men  with  mercy." 

"Yes,"  said  Taliaferro;  "only  it  seems  as 
if  we  are  rather  merciless  to  good  men  when 
we  encourage  those  that  prey  upon  them.  But 
upright  men  have  got  to  get  along  the  best  way 
they  can.  Virtues,  somehow,  always  seem  a 
little  ridiculous  as  connected  with  manhood. 
A  fellow^s  got  to  have  considerable  stamina 
nowadays  to  venture  to  live  an  unblushingly 
decent  life.  He  is  apt  to  be  laughed  at,  you 
know,  while  the  erring  are  wept  over.  One 
would  rather  be  wept  over  than  laughed  at." 

"You  are  no  longer  serious,"  smiled  the 
preacher. 

"I  am  serious  in  saying  that  we  weep  too 
much  over  the  erring." 

"  No  !"  said  the  other,  "  no !  no !  It  is  right 
for  us  to  seat  him  at  our  hearth  and  succor 
him  in  his  weakness,  and  make  him  a  partaker 
in  our  walk  with  God.  Purification  is  possible 
even  with  such  as  are  mistakenly  called  wholly 
abandoned,  and  how  much  more  with  those 
who  have  only  stepped  a  little  aside  I" 

"I  don't  like  to  seem  to  disagree  with  you 
on  this  point,  Mr.  McVeigh.  Of  course  it's 
the  difference  between  the  religious  and  the 
ethical  point  of  view.  I  was  going  to  remind 
you  of  its  having  been  said  that  the  influence 


134  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

of  men  in  whom  vice  has  not  yet  entirely  de- 
stroyed all  good  qualities  is  infinitely  more 
harmful  to  the  public  well-being  than  the  ex- 
ample of  the  wholly  depraved ;  just  as  infec- 
tious diseases  are  more  likely  to  be  communi- 
cated while  in  progress  than  after  reaching 
their  height.  I  think  it  is  Macaulay  who  has 
mentioned  this  ;  an  out-of-style  authority,  per- 
haps, but  one  in  whom  I  am  unprogressive 
enough  to  find  unbounded  stimulation  and 
pleasure." 

"Oh,  from  the  ground  of  a  figure  of 
speech — " 

"  But  isn't  sin  a  disease — a  rank  disorder  of 
the  social  organism  ?  Why  don't  we  treat  it  as 
a  disease,  then  ?  Certainly  it  doesn't  appear 
to  us  kind  to  nourish  the  plague  in  our  bosoms. 
It  doesn't  appear  to  us  that  our  healthfulness 
is  such  as  to  allow  us  to  mingle  unharmed  with 
lepers.  Men  yield  swiftly,  irresistibly  to  dis- 
ease, but  any  return  to  health  is  uphill  work, 
slow  and  laborious.  A  germ  of  fever  can  in- 
fect a  whole  nation.  Moral  disease  is  just  as 
potent,  perhaps ;  why  shouldn't  it  be  feared 
and  segregated,  then,  instead  of  touched  and 
fondled  ?" 

"It  is  our  mission  to  cure  it,"  signified  the 
preacher. 

"And  our  nature  to  catch  it,"  smiled  Talia- 


BOUND  m  SHALLOWS  186 

ferro,  rising  and  brushing  back  his  hair.  "  I 
see  that  I  can't  persuade  you." 

"No,  you  haven't  persuaded  me.  And  I 
imagine  that  in  an  actual  case  you  wouldn't 
carry  into  practice  your  harsh  views,  doctor ! 
You  can't  make  me  believe  that  you  wouldn't 
do  as  much  as  any  one  to  help  a  poor  sin- 
stricken  fellow  to  get  well  again.  You 
wouldn't  be  at  all  afraid,  in  pure  fact,  of  tak- 
ing any  ill  from  him.  Nor  would  you  hesitate 
about  it  any  more  than  you  would  hesitate  to 
go  among  the  dwellers  of  a  pest-house." 

"  Doctors  are  exempt  from  contagion,"  said 
the  other,  grimly.  "  But  if  I  saw  at  large  an 
individual  who  manifestly  ought  to  be  in  such 
a  house  as  you  mention,  I  think  I  should  bo 
justified  in  warning  people  that  they  had  bet- 
ter avoid  him." 

It  had  grown  very  dark,  and  a  scattering  of 
stars  shone  in  the  sky,  over  which,  too,  the 
Milky  Way  unrolled  a  beamy  strip.  Bats  were 
whipping  through  the  dusk.  Owlets  were  cry- 
ing. From  the  hotel  office  voices  echoed,  and 
as  Taliaferro  came  slowly  up  the  porch  steps 
a  man,  whose  feet  were  comfortably  planted 
against  one  of  the  pillars,  stopped  him  with  a 
gruffly  cordial  exclamation. 

"  Where  have  you  kept  yourself  lately,  doc  ? 
Anything  wrong  ?   Lost  a  patient,  eh  ?     Here, 


186  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

sit  down  by  me  a  while.  I  want  to  talk  with 
yon."  Dunbar  laid  his  hand  on  Taliaferro's 
arm  as  he  spoke,  and  pointed  ont  a  chair. 
"What's  up,  eh?" 

Overhead  the  uncertain  keys  of  the  parlor 
piano  were  beginning  to  emit  a  complaining 
resonance.  A  voice  essayed  a  note  or  two, 
failed,  and  resumed : 

"We  shall  meet,  but  we  shall  miss  him, 
There  will  be  a  vacant  chair, 
We  shall  linger  to  caress  him, 

When  we  breathe  our  evening  prayer." 

At  this  point  Dillon  appeared  in  the  door  of 
the  office,  a  slight,  modish  figure,  with  a  flower 
in  the  satin  lapel  of  his  short  coat.  He  paused, 
and  a  sort  of  frown  marred  the  composure  of 
his  good-looking  face  as  the  strains  of  the 
ballad  reached  his  ears.  Almost  at  once, 
however,  the  air  of  displeasure  left  him,  and, 
tossing  a  word  of  greeting  to  the  men  by  the 
porch  post,  he  ran  down  the  steps. 

Darkness  at  once  blotted  out  the  alert  shape  ; 
but  Taliaferro's  eyes  did  not  withdraw  them- 
selves from  the  gloom  of  the  pathway ;  and 
Dunbar,  noting  the  fixed  gaze,  uttered  a  little 
growl  of  invective. 

"Nat,"  he  came  out,  presently,  "we're  good 
friends,  eh  ?" 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  137 

''  If  we  aren't—" 

''  Well,  I  just  wanted  to  say  this  :  Dillon  and 
Mrs.  Morrow  and  Lucy  were  at  the  cascade  this 
afternoon.  I  saw  them  coming  back,  and — 
and  —  now  of  course  Fm  an  old  mustache! 
It's  been  some  time  since  I  saw  Pan  in  every 
goat-track.  But  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the 
young  man  looked  rather  assured,  and  all 
that.  Nat" — he  lowered  his  voice — "you're 
not  giving  up  ?" 

"  Giving  up  ?  My  renunciations  are  almost 
too  passive  to  be  described  in  that  way.  Nor 
do  they  belong  to  the  present.  It's  been  some 
time  since — " 

Dunbar  let  his  chair  legs  down  with  a  crash. 
"  Good  heavens,  Nat  !  —  you  don't  tell  me 
coolly — you  don't  sit  there — and — " 

"  Well,   what    could  I   do  ?     She'd   never 

thought  of  me  at  all.     That  was  the  sum  of 

it." 

''  Sum   of  it  ?"    Dunbar  struck  his  knee. 

"  Why  didn't  you   7naTce  her  think  of  you  ? 

Wliat — why — where  was  your  tongue — eh  ?  eh  ? 

Don't  you  know  you've  sat  blandly  by  and  let 

this  fellow — huh  I    He's  lacked  no  blarney,  I 

promise  you  !    He  hasn't  got  a  smack  of  the  old 

Bod  in  him  for  nothing  I    Oh,  I'm  sick !    I'm 

sick !    Maybe  I  oughtn't  to  say  it,  but  I  don't 

believe  much  in  Dillon.     He's  got  a  crooked 


138  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

streak  in  liim,  I'm  afraid.  He  won't  make  tliat 
girl  happy.  He's  burned  candles  at  too  many- 
shrines.  It's  only  a  fancy  with  him,  contiguity, 
and  a  lack  of  interests.  Maybe  you  don't  know 
that  he's  been  as  wild  as  a  hawk  ?*" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do,"  said  Taliaferro. 

**Yet  you  had  no  conscience  about  leaving 
Lucy  to  his  wiles  ?  Poor,  little  Lucy !  as  sweet 
and  credulous  a  girl — " 

*'  See  here !"  cried  Taliaferro,  desperately,  "  I 
know  all  about  him.  I  know  that  he's  been 
worse  than  merely  reckless.  He's  been — I'm 
going  to  tell  you  what  he's  been.  Maybe  you'll 
know  what  to  do  about  it — I  don't."  And  brief- 
ly, in  a  sentence,  he  Avent  over  the  matter  of 
Dillon's  dishonor.  "  That  is  all.  He  may  be 
far  removed  from  the  chance  of  such  depart- 
ures. I've  ceased  speculating  upon  it.  I  only 
know  one  thing  :  that  if  Lucy  were  my  sister, 
instead  of — of  the  woman  I've  loved  so  long,  I 
should  feel  that  she  must  not — at  least,  in  ig- 
norance— marry  such  a  man." 

Dunbar  had  a  stunned  air,  and  he  came  to 
himself  with  a  resounding  word. 

"  So  you've  been  doubtful  about  your  duty  in 
this  matter  ?  You've  speculated  upon  it,  eh  ? 
Well,  thank  God,  I  am  a  sane  man  !  I've  got 
no  delicate  qualms  and  scruples  !  I  shall  take 
it  on  myself  to  tell  Major  Morrow  a  thing  or 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  188 

two.  I'd  go  up  there  right  off  if  I  didn't  have 
to  make  the  night  train.  Yes,  I'm  going  North 
for  a  few  days.  But  just  as  soon  as  I  get  back 
I  shall  make  it  my  business  ;  and  while  I'm  in 
Cincinnati  I'll  make  a  few  inquiries  concerning 
this  young  gentleman,  whose  fits  of  gentle  mel- 
ancholy have  seemed  so  unaccountable.  Burke- 
ly  ought  not  to  have  kept  me  in  the  dark.  But 
it  wasn't  an  easy  thing  to  tell.  Poor,  old  man  ! 
Eh?  Shall  I  ask  Dillon  to  resign  his  position  at 
the  mill  ?  No,  I  think  not.  I  won't  keep  him 
from  honest  work,  and  I  shall  not  spread  abroad 
any  tale  of  his  delinquencies.  But  when  it 
comes  to  doing  what  I  can  to  keep  him  from 
marrying  a  friend's  daughter — gad  !  that's  an- 
other thing  I" 


XII 


There  was  the  usual  noontide  clatter  of  dish- 
es in  the  hotel  kitchen.  The  Monticello  coach 
had  gone  down  the  hill  road,  the  North-bound 
morning  train  was  crossing  the  bridge,  the  sig- 
nal stood  closed,  and  loungers  were  dispersing 
on  the  station  platform. 

In  the  back  yard  of  the  hotel  a  white  cow  wan- 
dered, nibbling  at  the  shoots  along  the  slope. 
The  solitary  hog,  rubbing  his  nose  against  a  bar 
of  the  pen,  uttered  an  off-and-on  sound  of  pen- 
sive discontent.  Occasionally  a  dry  leaf  coursed 
through  the  seeding  grass,  foretelling  fall, 
though  the  tall  red  and  white  hollyhocks  out- 
side the  family-room  windows  still  flaunted  gay 
rosettes,  one  of  which  now  and  then  tilted  to 
the  murmurous  descent  of  a  bee.  Against  the 
pale,  thick  stalks  was  a  low  bench,  and  extend- 
ed upon  it  in  the  shade  of  the  rough  leaves, 
Alexa  lay  at  length,  with  skirts  that  spread 
wing-like  on  each  side. 

Alexa's  hair,  tightly  wound  in  a  black  strand. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  141 

trailed  down  and  lost  itself  in  the  little  pun- 
gent, wart -centred  blossoms  of  dog -fennel 
growing  thickly  about.  Her  eyes  were  shut, 
and  the  metallic-looking  lashes  laid  an  added 
darkness  on  the  brown  cheeks.  Across  her 
brows  a  white  towel  was  bound  evenly,  like  an 
Eastern  head-dress,  with  fringed  ends  outlining 
the  slim  neck.  She  lay  quietly  listening  to  a 
murmur  of  voices  in  the  family-room,  taking 
note  presently  of  a  suggestion  of  farewell  in 
these  mingling  and  confused  accents.  Then  a 
door  closed ;  silence  fell ;  and  a  moment  later 
Mrs.  Bohun  came  to  the  kitchen  threshold,  and 
cast  from  her  limp,  black  sunbonnet  a  glance 
towards  the  hollyhocks. 

"Elex,"  she  called,  ''I  got  somethin' to 
tell  you !  Why,  what  you  got  your  head  all 
wrapped  up  for  ?    Hunh  ?" 

Alexa  stirred  with  an  irritable  movement  as 
she  said,  "  Haven't  I  been  sweeping  the  parlor  ? 
Do  you  reckon  I  want  my  hair  white  with  the 
dust  there  is  in  that  old  carpet  ?" 

''You'd  ought  to'v  sprinkled  tea-leaves  onto 
it,"  Mrs.  Bohun  advised  her,  "though  mercy 
knows  I  never  encouraged  you  to  scratch  round 
in  dusty  corners  or  blind  yourse'f  hunting  out 
little  cobwebs.  Spiders  is  as  much  God's  creat- 
ures as  we,  and  them  that's  always  persecutin' 
'em  '11  have  it  to  explain  to  the  Most  High.     I 


142  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

liain^t  it  on  my  conscience  that  ever  I  gredged 
house-room  to  spiders  or  mice  or  flies — ^no,  nor 
even  to  roaches  !     Live  and  let  live,  says  I." 

Alexa  passed  by  her  mother's  exaltation  in 
this  pions  remembrance.  She  asked,  yawning, 
"What  was  you  going  to  tell  me  ?" 

'*  Law,  if  I  hadn't  in-a'most  forgot  it !  Par- 
son's niece  was  just  in,  Elex.  She  came  to  ask 
me  about  Lete  Haight.  You  mind  parson 
being  at  me  to  give  her  work  ?  Well,  Miss 
Linda  called  to  see  how  I'd  decided.  And  what 
do  you  think  she  let  out  ?  You  was  right, 
Elex.  Since  I  had  the  grip  I  ain't  so  clear- 
sighted as  I  was.  You  was  right.  And  I'm 
just  as  glad  things  have  turned  out  like  they 
have,  for  your  paw  he's  heard  it  chirped  round 
lately  that  Mr.  Dillon  'ain't  always  been  as 
mild-mouthed  and  mincin'  as  he  is  just  now. 
They  say  he  used  to  be  lively  as  a  cricket,  and 
up  to  more  snuff  than  ever  any  person  would 
believe  that  sees  him  setting  round  here  with 
his  heels  h'isted  and  his  hat  into  his  eyes,  look- 
ing as  peaceable  as  an  unweaned  kitten.  It  was 
a  drummer  for  plug  terbaccer  and  cigars  give 
your  paw  the  hint.  Your  paw  said  he  judged 
that  Mr.  Dillon  was  just  natchelly  triflin' — one 
of  them  kind  that's  always  a-slipping  and  a- 
straightening,  neither  dead  cull  or  good  timber, 
but  'bout  like  a  buckeye  log  that  '11  rot  at  one 


BOUND  m  SHALLOWS  143 

end  while  it  sprouts  at  the  other.  Kememberin* 
about  that  copperhead  snake,  your  paw  wasn't 
willing  to  believe  a  word  agin  Mr.  Dillon.  But 
he  'lowed  that  reason  was  one  of  the  meanest 
things  in  the  world  for  f orgin'  ahead  in  spite  of 
you.  'W  I  just  called  it  to  mind  what  that 
drummer'd  hinted,  and  how't  Mr.  Dillon  wasn't 
no  Mason,  and  all  that,  while  Miss  Linda  Mc- 
Veigh was  smiling  and  going  on  and  saying 
how  befittin'  the  hull  thing  was,  and  how  like 
dear  Lucy  for  to  make  her  choice  outside  of 
worldly  consideration  and  such.  *  I  just  think,' 
suz  I,  *  I'd  a  heap  ruther  it  was  Lucy  Morrow 
than  my  Elex.' " 

Alexa  had  been  listening  without  any  evi- 
dences of  interest.  Suddenly  she  opened  her 
eyes. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  ma  ?"  she  de- 
manded. "You  ramble  on  till  a  person  loses 
all  track.  What  are  you — what — "  She  had 
lifted  herself  on  an  elbow  and  her  face  had 
changed.     *'  Lucy  Morrow  !  what  about  her  ?" 

Mrs.  Bohun  was  searching  in  her  bosom  for 
a  pin  with  which  to  fasten  the  buttonless  collar 
of  her  gown.  "'Ain't  I  just  done  telling  you  ?" 
she  asked.  "'Ain't  I  just  said  that,  after  all, 
you  was  right  when  you  said  Mr.  Dillon  had  a 
notion  for  Lucy  Morrow  ?  At  the  time  I  thought 
you  was  only  letting  on  about  there  being  noth- 


144  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

ing  betwix'  yon  and  him ;  now  I  see  you  was 
plumb  serious,  and  I  prize  your  good  sense  in 
not  being  took  in  by  his  wheedlin'  ways.  'T 
run  in  my  mind  when  I  set  and  heard  Miss 
Linda  goin'  on." 

Alexa  was  sitting  erect.  Her  face  had  grown 
almost  haggard.  "  Will  you  tell  me  what  she 
said  ?  I  can't  make  out  anything.  What — 
what  are  you  waiting  for  ?  Why  don't  you 
say  something  ?" 

"Elexy,  you  go  on  at  me  like  I'd  done 
something  !  It's  like  I  tell  you,  honey.  Miss 
Linda  said  that  Mrs.  Morrow  had  told  her, 
quiet  and  conferdential,  that  Mr.  Dillon  had 
asked  for  Lucy,  and  that  her  and  the  Major 
had  given  consent.  That's  all.  Except  that 
I  wasn't  to  breathe  it,  because  they  didn't 
mean  to  'announce'  it,  so  she  said,  till  later 
on." 

Alexa  gave  a  long  breath.  She  sat  with 
knees  wide  and  with  her  figure  slouched  for- 
ward. Her  hands  hung  limply  over  the  sag- 
ging hollow  of  her  lap,  and  her  face  had  a  va- 
cant, ugly  stare.    Mrs.  Bohun  began  to  tremble. 

"Elex!"  she  besought,  faintly;  "oh,  Elex ! 
you  didn't  care  none  for  him,  did  you  ?" 

Alexa's  face  hardened,  and  her  lips  pulled 
contemptuously  as  she  said,  "  Care  ?  Haven't  I 
told  you  there  wasn't  anything  ?    I'm  think- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  145 

ing  of  Lucy  Morrow — that's  all.  I'm  thinking 
of  her." 

"  She'll  have  her  hands  full  a-workin'  to  keep 
him  straight,"  surmised  Mrs.  Bohun,  reassured. 
"A  man  like  that  is  like  a  horse  without  a 
mouth ;  pull  and  haw  as  you  may,  you  never 
got  no  purchase  on  him.  I'd  ruther  trust  my- 
self with  a  critter  that  'd  take  the  bit  and  light 
right  out;  you  know  where  you're  at  sooner." 

Alexa  rose,  murmuring,  ''I  haven't  dusted 
yet."  And,  stumbling  a  little,  she  turned  the 
house  comer  and  entered  the  side  door,  and 
struggled  blindly  up  the  stairs.  She  did  not 
know  where  she  was  going ;  she  had  simply  a 
wild  instinct  of  escape,  of  eluding  the  sunshine, 
the  open  air,  the  mocking  noises  of  leaf  and 
wind. 

From  the  parlor  a  shaft  of  light,  still  fibrous 
with  dust,  widened  across  the  hall.  Alexa's 
eyes  avoided  it.  Treading  on  her  skirts,  she 
went  on  up  the  second  flight,  tearing  the  gath- 
ers from  the  cotton  belt  with  every  unheeding 
step.  Midway  of  this  higher  staircase  a  dark 
landing  intervened,  and  as  the  blessed  shadows 
of  it  fell  upon  Alexa  a  sense  of  giddiness  and 
failing  came  over  her,  and  she  sank  on  the  step, 
casting  her  hands  against  her  dizzy  eyes. 

This  was  the  end  of  her  dreaming.  This 
was  the  bald,  pitiful  end.     A  crew  of  dim. 


146  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

hateful  presences  reeled  and  whirled  before 
Alexa — a  host  of  furies  with  spectral  faces  and 
blood-flecked  breath.  In  their  taunting  lips 
rang  a  perpetual  laughter  of  scorn  and  the 
jibing  reiteration  of  the  fact  which  she  had 
sometimes  feared  and  yet  only  half  believed, 
and  altogether  sought  to  banish  from  her  con- 
sciousness— the  fact  that  Dillon  did  not  love 
her  in  the  least,  and  had  only  amused  himself 
a  little  with  her  fondness  and  her  folly. 

Alexa's  whole  being  revolted  in  a  burning 
rush  of  self-contempt  as  she  remembered  how 
lavishly  she  had  poured  her  heart  out  at  Dil- 
lon's feet,  and  how  passively  he  had  received 
the  oblation.  It  seemed  now,  in  this  moment 
of  awakening,  as  if  he  had  not  made  any  effort 
to  deceive  her  regarding  his  affections.  She 
could  not  recall  that  he  had  ever  spoken  of 
love.  It  was  all  her  own  doing,  this  tor- 
ment which  encompassed  her.  She  had  been 
blind ;  that  was  it  —  blind,  and  possessed  to 
rear  a  celestial  dome  upon  a  tottering  fabric  of 
baseless  hopes.  A  few  careless  kisses,  caress- 
ing looks,  smiles,  flatteries — these  had  meant 
nothing  to  Dillon ;  but  Alexa,  in  thinking 
what  they  had  meant  to  her,  especially  at  the 
first,  began  to  feel  in  her  bosom  a  flame  of  in- 
dignation and  a  growing  sense  of  a  lack  of  jus- 
tice in  his  treatment  of  her.     He  had  said  lit- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  147 

tie,  indeed ;  bnt  had  he  dealt  with  her  in  a  fair 
and  manly  way  ?  Had  he  not  tacitly  let  her 
believe  that  he  eared  for  her  ?  Had  he  not 
been  grieved  to  see  the  least  cloud  upon  her  ? 
Had  not  his  passing  fits  of  indifference  been 
always  foiled  by  moments  of  the  gentlest  con- 
sideration ? 

Alexa  asked  herself  these  things  angrily,  rec- 
ollecting how  she  had  explained  his  varying 
humors  upon  a  theory  that  he  was  troubled 
over  a  question  of  the  propriety  of  taking  to 
wife  a  girl  whose  station  had  once  been  so 
humble,  and  whose  father  still  challenged  so- 
cial approbation  by  an  occasional  slap  at  the 
gods  whom  the  hill  folk  honored  and  upheld. 

"  Oh,"  moaned  Alexa,  reviewing  this  falla- 
cious idea,  "I  am  dying !  dying  !"  There  was 
a  step  on  the  stairs,  but  Alexa,  in  her  scorn  of 
herself,  did  not  hear  it.  A  man  came  hurry- 
ing up  the  steps,  whistling  a  bar  of  some  light 
melody.  At  the  head  of  the  baluster  he  caught 
the  despairing  breath  in  the  landing  above,  and 
looked  up  and  started  somewhat.  Alexa's  face 
was  hidden.  Only  a  line  of  black  hair  showed 
between  the  white  towel  about  her  brows  and 
the  pink  nails  of  her  clinched  hands ;  while, 
down  below  her  feet,  straight  as  a  whip,  the 
even  braid  fell.  In  her  bent,  quivering  shoul- 
ders was  an  intimation  of  such  suffering  as  held 


148  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

Dillon  at  a  stand;  and  almost  at  once  lie  sur- 
mised that  slie  had  heard  of  his  betrothal.  He 
winced  at  the  thought  of  addressing  her ;  but 
his  instinct  of  keeping  out  of  the  range  of  un- 
pleasant experiences  by  a  reactive  force  made 
him  determine  to  plunge  into  the  chasm  and 
be  done  with  it.  So  he  said,  in  a  kind,  ques- 
tioning voice,  "  Alexa  I" 

Alexa  dropped  her  hands,  her  face  stiffened, 
and  she  arose. 

"  At  odds  with  life  again  ?"  he  pursued. 
"  Why,  the  whole  business  isn't  worth  it  I" 

Above  him  in  the  shadowy  landing  Alexa 
stood  mutely.  The  fringed  towel-ends  defined 
accurately  her  slight,  yellow  throat,  which, 
swollen  a  little,  beat  at  the  side  with  a  slow 
pulse.  Below  the  linen  her  thick  brows  and 
heavy  lips,  of  the  hue  of  unbaked  clay,  dully 
red  and  motionless,  gave  her  a  stolid  look, 
which  did  not  mitigate  the  growing  uneasiness 
in  Dillon's  mind. 

"  Has  one  of  your  pigeons  died,  Carita  ?"  he 
went  on,  keeping  up  his  air  of  jesting. 

*'No,"  said  Alexa,  getting  at  a  fair  sem- 
blance of  a  voice.  And  as  he  came  a  step  or 
two  nearer,  and  would  have  taken  her  hand, 
she  added,  "Don't  come  up  here  !" 

He  paused,  and  his  eyes  flashed.  ''Very 
well,"  he  said,  as  quick  to  wrath  as  to  tender- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  149 

ness.  *'As  you  please/'  It  occurred  to  him, 
however,  that  for  him  to  be  offended  with 
Alexa's  pettishness  was  rather  absurd,  and  he 
continued,  "  I  am  sorry.  Forgive  me  for  break- 
ing in  upon  your  unhappiness.  I  had  no  right 
to  ask  you  about  it,  or  to  feel  that  my  friendly 
sympathy  might  perhaps  lessen  the  sum  of  any 
trouble  you  may  have." 

Alexa  was  maintaining  an  admirable  reserve 
as  she  coldly  regarded  the  aspect  of  his  lifted 
face,  its  swarthiness  of  sunburn,  its  clear  blue- 
ness  of  eye,  and  little,  gold-dappled,  stripling's 
mustache.  How  he  must  be  inwardly  smiling 
at  the  distress  which  he  had  surprised  ! — wait- 
ing, perhaps,  to  feign  wonder  and  regret  if  a 
word  of  reproach  should  escape  her.  Alexa, 
thinking  thus,  suddenly  determined  that  no 
such  word  should  gratify  him. 

"  Trouble  ?"  said  Alexa.  **  I  have  no  trou- 
bles. Unhappiness  —  oh,  that's  different.  A 
gyrl  wouldn't  deserve  such  a  homo  and  parents 
as  I  have  if  she  didn't  feel  bad  to  think  of 
leaving  them." 

"  Leaving  them  ?    Are  you — " 

Alexa  had  gathered  her  torn  skirts  about 
her,  preparatory  to  going  up  the  last  three 
steps.  Her  hand  was  on  the  baluster,  and  she 
looked  back  with  a  fair  show  of  smiling. 

"  Didn't  you  know  ?     Gyrls  generally  have 


IBO  BOUND  EN  SUALLOWS 

to  leave  home  when  they  marry.  I  don^t  reck- 
on Beau  McBeath  would  care  to  live  in  any 
house  but  his  own."  Her  little  sharp  laugh 
flung  out  above  him.  Alexa  was  gone,  with 
some  scrap  of  a  war-song  on  her  lips. 

Dillon  felt  oddly  taken  down.  Then  he 
echoed  her  laugh  below  the  breath.  Blended 
with  his  relief  in  her  attitude  was  something 
not  unlike  hurt  vanity ;  a  certain  disbelief  in 
Alexa's  statements  wavered  midway  of  these 
two  impressions,  but  he  told  himself  that  since 
the  matter  had  ended  so  satisfactorily  he  would 
do  well  to  forbear  to  question  it. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  gabled  room  overhead, 
where  the  soap  advertisements  unfolded  their 
rainbow  gloss  and  the  patchwork  carpet  lay  in 
a  mingled  woof,  Alexa  was  pacing  in  long,  hard 
steps ;  back  and  forth  she  tramped,  common, 
fierce,  and  wild  in  her  tearless  pain.  Dillon's 
mildness  and  smiling  air  had  pricked  her  to 
added  bitterness ;  and  as  she  thought  of  him 
and  his  look  of  gayety,  she  stopped  short  and 
stretched  a  sudden  hand  towards  the  soft  sky 
beyond  her  dormer-Avindow,  and  cried  out,  pas- 
sionately, "  0  God  !  don't  let  him  be  happy  ! — 
don't  let  him  be  happy  !" 


I 


k 


XIII 

If  Alexa's  explanation  of  the  cause  of  her 
tragic  mood  had  affected  Dillon  with  a  certain 
sense  of  incredulity,  he  found,  during  the  fol- 
lowing days,  many  things  which  appeared  di- 
rectly confirmatory  at  least  of  her  statement 
regarding  a  betrothal. 

Beauregard  McBeath's  long,  fawn  -  colored 
coat  and  broad  felt  hat  and  bright  blue  neck- 
scarf  and  beaming  face  seemed  to  pervade  the 
hotel ;  and  always  at  the  hour  of  Dillon's  re- 
turn from  the  mill  Alexa,  smiling,  blushing, 
and  demure,  was  sure  to  be  about  the  porch  or 
office,  listening  indulgently  to  McBeath's  talk, 
interlarded  as  it  was  with  long  looks  of  speech- 
less rapture. 

"  Yes,"  owned  Bohun,  looking  damp  and  red 
around  the  eyes,  *Hhey  got  it  fixed  up!  I 
hardly  know  whether  Tm  cryin'  or  laughin' 
about  it,  I'm  so  dazea  like.  Seems  like  we'd 
oughtn't  to  give  way,  seein'  her  and  Beau  is 
s'  happy  and  all.     I  says  to  him  when  he  ast 


152  BOUND  m  SHALLOWS 

me,  says  I,  *  I'd  ruther  it  was  yon,  Beau,  than 
sever'l  many  I  could  name — you  havin'  took 
three  degi'ees  and  all.  But  yet  it's  drorin' 
teeth  for  to  give  up  a  unly  gyrl/  says  I.  '  You 
want  to  keep  her  in  cotton-wool/  I  'lowed,  be- 
ginnin'  to  blubber,  'and  fahly  carry  her  'round, 
or  you  'n'  me  '11  have  words.'  And  Beau  he 
was  moppin'  his  eyes,  same  as  me,  and  clearin' 
his  throat,  and  he  'lowed  nothing  wouldn't  be 
too  good  for  Elexy  so  long  as  he  had  a  day's 
work  in  him.  And  what  do  I  do  but  whim- 
per out,  '  Grod  bless  ye.  Beau  !'  like  I  was  a 
believin'  man  and  hadn't  reasoned  past  that 
there.  Yes,  sir,  I  did.  And  I  never  took  it 
back  neither  ;  for  think,  suz  I,  '  it  won't  do 
no  harm,  and  may  do  some  good.' " 

Once  returning  from  the  flats  a  little  earlier 
than  usual  in  the  afternoon,  Dillon  came 
upon  McBeath,  who,  for  once  alone,  sat  on  a 
rock  at  the  hotel  gate  whittling  a  stick  to 
shreds. 

"  I  haven't  told  you  yet,"  said  Dillon,  stop- 
ping, "  how  much  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
good-fortune.  Your  lot  is  enviable,  McBeath." 

' '  Thanky,"  rejoined  McBeath,  glowing.  "  If 
there's  a  better-favored  gyrl  in  the  State  than 
Alexa,  I've  never  met  with  her." 

*'And  when  is  the  happy  event  to  be,  Mac  ? 
— soon,  eh  ?" 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  163 

McBeath's  Inminous  visage  shadowed,  and  he 
shut  his  knife  with  a  cheerless  click.  "  That's 
what's  bothering  me/'  he  confessed.  "She's 
all  for  delaying  and  putting  off,  and  having 
a  lot  of  furbelows  built,  and  a  church  wed- 
ding, and  cyards  printed,  and  a  big  infair. 
"Why,  first  off  she  was  going  to  hold  me  off 
for  a  year ;  but  I  plied  round  and  carried  on 
so  high  that  she  came  down  to  six  months. 
I  felt  as  if  I  dassent  try  to  narrow  the  time 
like  I'd  like  to,  on  account  of — of — "  Mc- 
Beath  paused,  and  opened  his  knife  again, 
and  thoughtfully  tried  the  blade.  '^  You  see, 
it's  this  way,"  he  burst  out :  "  I'm  in  a  kind 
of  a  hole.  I  feel  as  if  'twon't  do  me  no  hurt 
to  name  it,  you  and  me  being  hail-feller-well- 
met  and  all  that.  But  Alexa's  always  said  she 
wouldn't  marry  no  man  that  couldn't  turn  in 
and  build  her  a  house  up  yender  on  the  bluff. 
And  I've  always  promised  to  do  it,  for  I  al- 
ways judged  that  there  walnut  wood  of  ours 
would  come  into  the  market  all  right  sooner 
or  later,  and  I  never  worried  much.  But  t' 
tell  you  the  dead  truth,  I  ain't  so  well-heeled 
right  now  as  I'd  find  accommodating.  I  got 
to  figure  round  a  heap.  I  can't  ask  Alexa  to 
come  and  live  over  in  Wayne,  in  the  old  place ; 
she'd  have  a  kniption-fit ;  and  my  mother  and 
her  wouldn't  gee  no  way  ;  and  I  can't  raise  a 


164  BOUND   EST  SHALLOWS 

cent  on  the  homestead.  It's  run  down,  and 
it  belongs,  anyway,  to  my  mother.  So,  you 
see,  I'm  studying  a  heap  these  days.  Lord,  if 
I  could  only  straighten  out  that  walnut-tract 
business  !" 

"A  splendid  piece  of  timber,"  remarked 
Dillon.  "  I  saw  it  when  I  went  up  the  South 
Fork  inspecting." 

"Prettiest  grove  in  the  State.  Ought  to 
bring  ten  thousand." 

Dillon,  listening,  pulled  out  his  mustache 
in  remembering  at  how  much  larger  a  reckon- 
ing the  logger  who  was  with  him  on  the  South 
Fork  trip  had  estimated  the  value  of  the  wood. 
"  Eight  on  to  the  water  aidge  like  it  is,"  the 
old  logger  had  declared,  "all  you  got  to  do 
is  to  cut  it,  and  there  you  are.  No  hauling  or 
such ;  the  river  just  waiting  to  freight  the 
sticks  to  your  chute.  Lord  a'njighty,  but  the 
company  'd  like  to  git  their  hands  on  that 
there  timber  !  Walnut's  got  so  skerce  the  mar- 
ket's clamoring  for  it,  and  the  mill  has  orders 
filed  away  as  it  '11  never  git  to  fill  on  the  face 
o'  the  yearth  !" 

"  It's  a  pity  to  have  the  tract  tied  up  in  the 
way  it  is,"  agreed  Dillon,  setting  his  foot  on 
the  stone  step  beside  McBeath,  "but  I  sup- 
pose there's  no  way  out." 

"  It's  all  in  trust  to  my  mother,"  explained 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  156 

McBeath,  **and  she'll  never  see  a  twig  lopped 
till  she  knows  for  certain  about  that  there 
Maria  Conner." 

"And  you're  making  no  headway  in  the 
search  ?" 

*'No,  sir.  That's  just  it.  We  ain't.  If 
I'd  of  got  at  it  sooner  maybe  matters  'd  be 
different.  But  Alexa  'd  never  pass  me  no 
promise,  and  I  just  left  it  to  Judge  Kinney. 
'  When  I  hear  from  Maria  Conner  I'll  let  you 
know/  says  he.  Judge  is  getting  pretty  old, 
and  his  mind  ain't  what  it  was.  He's  had  a 
stroke  just  lately,  and  they've  took  him  to  the 
Hot  Springs.  Lord  knows  when  he'll  be  able 
to  tend  to  anything." 

"  Somehow  it  doesn't  seem  exactly  a  busi- 
ness-like arrangement,"  mused  Dillon,  think- 
ing of  the  mill's  orders  for  walnut. 

**It  ain't,"  cried  McBeath,  gloomily.  He 
added,  after  a  while,  "  It's  no  use  for  me  to 
worry  myself  thin  as  a  June  shad,  though. 
Any  day  may  come  a  letter  from  the  West  stat- 
ing that  Conner's  sister's  dead,  or  willin'  to 
compromise,  or  some  such  trick.  Something 
ought  to  come  to  us  off  that  tract.  Judge 
Kinney  said  so  himself.  'Ain't  we  watched  it 
continual  ?  Why,  they  wouldn't  be  a  stick  of 
it  left  if  we  hadn't  gyarded  it  like  a  pair  of 
hawks !     Yes,    sir ;   whichever    way   the    cat 


156  BOUND  IK  SHALLOWS 

jumps,  I  stand  to  win.     All  I  ask   is  a  let- 
ter." 

*' A  letter  would  certainly  ease  the  situation/' 
smiled  Dillon.  '^  When  it  comes,  Mac,  if  it  is 
such  as  to  put  the  wood  at  your  own  disposal, 
I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  chance  to  handle 
it.    Fd  pay  you  as  much  as  any  one." 

McBeath  echoed  his  laugh,  put  into  a  gay 
mood  by  this  prospective  bargaining.  ''I'd 
rather  it  was  you  than  most,"  he  cried.  "  Time 
was  when  I  hadn't  much  use  for  you,  but 
I've  got  over  that.  You  see,  I  kind  of  mis- 
trusted you  was  beating  my  time  in  yonder !" 
He  nodded  towards  the  house.  "ButAlexa 
like  to  died  laughing  Avhen  I  mentioned  it  to 
her  the  other  day — said  the  love  lost  between 
you  and  her  wouldn't  serve  to  wad  a  shot- 
gun." 

"  Oh,  I  never  had  a  chance  !"  sighed  Dillon. 
"  Well,  I  must  go,  Mac.  You'll  remember  me 
when  you  come  into  your  kingdom  ?  Half 
down,  eh,  half  when  delivered  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  !  Yes,  sir  !"  gurgled  McBeath. 
"  Lord,  I  wisht  I  could  sign  the  papers  to- 
morrow !" 

"  Maybe  you  can,"  smiled  Dillon.  "  It  all 
depends — "  He  drew  up,  with  a  sudden  thrill- 
ing of  the  pulses,  startled,  appalled,  fascinated 
by  the  idea  which  had  flashed  on  him  from 


BOUND  EST  SHALLOWS  157 

those  light,  unthinking  words.  In  his  tem- 
ples he  could  feel  a  strange  trembling,  as  of 
quivering  nerves.  His  eyes  dazzled,  and  he 
perceived  himself  to  be  striving  to  hold  his 
thoughts  suspended,  to  be  struggling  to  keep 
them  from  wheeling  on  to  a  conclusion  which 
he  seemed  to  see  even  while  he  tried  to  see 
nothing.  Like  a  man  who  on  the  edge  of  a 
precipice  has  begun  to  fear  a  vertigo,  he  made 
an  actual  step  backward.  But  the  chasm 
still  drew  him ;  its  depths  called  him ;  and 
with  an  effort  to  regain  himself  he  passed  a 
hand  over  his  eyes,  and  attempted  to  fix  his 
gaze  upon  some  detail  of  the  scene  around 
him. 

It  was  past  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  but  a 
glitter  of  heat  still  struck  the  railway  tracks,  giv- 
ing them  the  look  of  rivers  whose  water  leaped 
and  sparkled  in  the  green  distance.  In  the 
singular  acuteness  of  perception  which  Dillon 
felt  the  sky  seemed  to  him  to  be  full  of  atoms, 
frothing  and  whirling  in  a  rush  of  blue,  cease- 
lessly active,  as  if  life,  vibrating  in  the  atmos- 
phere, were  endowed  in  its  least  point  with 
all  the  barren  restlessness  of  the  soul  of  hu- 
manity. Through  the  greenish  -  bronze  tints 
of  the  opposite  hill  a  little  air  stirred  fitfully, 
and  on  the  brow  of  the  massive  shape  a  light- 
ning-charred tree,  revealing  its  riven  shape 


158  BOUND  m  SHALLOWS 

against  a  distorted  cloud,  gave  him  a  fancy 
of  a  carven  crucifix  pressed  to  dying  lips. 

Village  sounds  spent  themselves  distinctly. 
Dillon  was  aware  of  the  smallest  whir  of  the 
insects  in  the  grass  beyond  the  path,  yet  noth- 
ing blurred  the  sharp  outlines  of  the  ideas 
thronging  swift  and  persuasive  below  his  sense 
of  outward  things.  What  a  master-stroke  it 
would  be  to  secure  for  the  mill  this  cried-up 
reach  of  timber  !  In  how  many  ways  it  would 
profit  him  if  only  he  were  able  to  secure  it, 
and  acting  independently,  yet  in  the  interest 
of  the  company,  to  deliver  the  wood  to  them 
in  the  great  December  tides  !  There  would 
be,  first  of  all,  a  large  percentage  of  profit  ac- 
cruing to  him  from  the  operation  ;  for  the 
price  which  McBeath  had  suggested,  based 
upon  a  better  stocked  market,  would  enable 
the  dealer,  while  disposing  of  the  timber  at  a 
fair  price,  to  realize  a  very  considerable  mar- 
gin. As  to  other  matters,  it  was  plain  that  the 
mill  people  could  hardly  fail  to  appreciate  Dil- 
lon's attitude  in  consigning  them  the  wood ; 
the  way  to  a  partnership  in  the  firm  might  be 
managed  with  Mr.  Burkely's  aid,  and  this  aid 
would  not  be  withheld  when  the  old  man  un- 
derstood how  much  skill  and  energy  his  nephew 
had  displayed  in  the  transaction.  Thus  Dillon's 
marriage  would  be  divested  of  all  those  material 


BOTTSD  m  SHALLOWS  169 

difficulties  which  were  beginning  to  weigh  upon 
him,  and  life  would  become  an  easy  thing,  and 
comfort  and  satisfaction  be  added  to  every 
one. 

There  was  no  confusion  in  Dillon's  mind. 
After  that  first  sense  of  dizziness  everything 
had  grown  quite  clear.  He  had  no  conscious- 
ness of  yielding  to  an  ugly  impulse  ;  there  had 
not  been  struggle  enough  to  make  him  feel 
anything  like  a  moral  defeat.  It  was  in  a  sort 
of  impersonal  way  that  he  heard  himself  add- 
ing, "  On  a  letter ;  everything,  it  seems,  de- 
pends on  just  a  letter." 

He  was  directly  sensible  of  a  subtle  suggest- 
iveness  in  his  voice — a  suggestiveness  which 
the  air  and  meadows  and  hills  appeared  to 
understand  and  develop,  but  which  McBeath 
might  be  too  doltish  in  his  mental  equipment 
to  catch  at  even  dimly.  Dillon  turned  a  little 
and  set  a  casual  eye  upon  the  young  man. 
McBeath's  lips  had  fallen  apart  and  his  gaze 
was  wide,  as  if  in  a  blank  observation  of  some 
unfamiliar  and  astounding  object. 

Viewing  him,  Dillon  felt  a  rush  of  spirits, 
and  he  cried,  gayly  :  "  We  won't  despair.  Per- 
haps there's  a  message  even  now  on  its  way  to 
assure  your  mother  that  the  walnut  wood  is 
hers  and  yours.  Butte  City  was  the  place, 
wasn't  it,  from  which  you  last  heard  of  this 


180  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

Hannah  or  Maria  Conner  ?"  And  with  his 
customary  little  wave  of  the  hand  Dillon  went 
on  up  the  path,  leaving  McBeath  in  a  sort  of 
mental  vacancy  upon  the  stone  ledge. 

When  he  afterwards  thought  of  it  all  a  cer- 
tain vague  discomfort  touched  Dillon.  He  had 
a  sense  of  uneasiness  and  distaste  ;  yet  he  was 
able  to  soothe  himself  with  the  assurance  that 
he  had  said  to  McBeath  nothing  which  the 
world  might  not  have  heard.  If  a  covert  sig- 
nificance had  indeed  lurked  in  those  few  words 
spoken  so  lightly,  that  significance  depended 
entirely  upon  McBeath^s  interpretation.  If 
McBeath  chose  to  turn  to  unadvised  account 
the  obscure  implication  of  a  passing  phrase, 
the  issue  lay  with  him. 

He  wondered,  however,  what  the  character 
of  McBeath's  ruminations  might  be ;  for,  dur- 
ing the  next  day  or  so,  McBeath  certainly 
seemed  to  be  ruminating  upon  something. 
Upon  the  following  Sabbath,  as  the  young 
countryman  went  down  the  road  beside  Alexa 
on  his  way  to  church,  the  air  of  unusual 
thoughtfulness  which  environed  him  was  par- 
ticularly evident,  and  elicited  a  jest  or  two 
from  the  loungers  about  the  station, 

"Begins  to  see  that  marriage  is  a  serious 
thing,"  said  the  agent. 

"M-yes,"  agreed  the  engineer.     "Feels  the 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  161 

hook  in  his  gills,  and  begins  to  think  of  the 
skillet !" 

That  afternoon,  as  Dillon  sat  with  several 
men  in  the  side-yard,  waiting  for  the  three 
o'clock  train  to  bring  the  Cincinnati  papers, 
he  saw  McBeath  approaching  him  in  the  shade 
of  the  trees. 

"Awful  hot,  ain't  it?"  said  McBeath,  wip- 
ing out  his  hat.  And  making  a  gesture  tow- 
ards the  sphinx  knob,  he  inquired,  "  Ever  been 
on  top  ?" 

"Never." 

"  Well,"  declared  McBeath,  with  an  earnest- 
ness which  the  subject  seemed  scarcely  to  war- 
rant, "  you'd  be  su'prised  the  way  the  air  stirs 
up  there  !  There's  a  breeze  on  top  of  that  knob 
when  not  a  breath's  whiffin'  down  here.  And 
the  view,  too  !    Something  great !" 

"Yes?"  said  Dillon. 

"  Er — why — you  wouldn't  care  to  go  up  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  would.  It's  something  of  a 
climb,  Mac." 

"No,  sir !  no,  sir !  easy  path  jogs  up  the  side." 
McBeath  paused,  and  kicked  a  hole  in  the  turf 
with  his  heel.  "  To  tell  the  truth,"  he  owned, 
"  I'd  like  to  get  off  some  place.  I  been  turn- 
ing something  in  my  mind  overnight,  and  I'd 
like  to  advise  with  you,  if  you  didn't  care." 

Dillon  let  the  legs  of  his  chair  down.     "It 


168  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

isn't  train-time  by  an  hour/'  he  said.  "  I  don't 
know  that  I  mind  a  stroll,  if  I  can  be  of  any 
service  to  you." 

The  sphinx  knob  did  not  confirm  McBeath's 
assertions  regarding  the  ease  of  its  ascent ;  it 
appeared  to  Dillon  steeper  than  any  one  would 
have  dreamed  from  a  casual  inspection  of  its 
bulk ;  and  more  than  once  he  fetched  up 
breathless  in  the  ragged  cow-path  braiding  its 
side  in  wandering  curves.  Tall  yellow  weeds, 
thick  with  straw-tassels,  rustled  sharply  as  the 
two  men  brushed  through  them.  A  world  of 
insect  murmurs  rose  under  their  feet,  and  tree- 
toads  overhead  were  uttering  a  reedy  presage 
of  rain. 

The  head  of  the  knob  was  coiffed  in  flat  lime- 
stone, over  which  a  kind  of  ivy,  brightly  scarlet 
and  of  a  waxen  texture,  trailed  a  flaming  net. 
White-oak  saplings,  also  reddening,  burned 
from  every  crevice  of  the  upland  rock,  and 
here  and  there  a  wand  of  golden-rod  charmed 
the  air  with  languid  passes.  Purple  flowers, 
low-growing  and  rich  in  odors,  carpeted  the 
flat  places  along  the  ridge  of  the  rise,  where, 
grazing  the  late  pasturage,  a  few  long-homed 
cattle  ranged  with  a  pastoral  tinkling. 

Below,  like  a  toy  world,  the  little  trees  and 
houses  of  the  village  scattered  the  valley.  High 
on  the  east  bluff  the  hotel,  buttressed  in  hewn 


BOUin>  m  SHALLOWS  163 

rock,  peaked  its  slight  towers  in  a  density  of 
surrounding  leaf.  Something  impressive  and 
picturesque  was  lent  it  by  the  shade  and  dis- 
tance ;  it  might  have  been  a  deeply  moated 
stronghold,  and  the  garment  hung  to  dry  in 
one  of  the  gable  windows  a  betokening  scarf ; 
while  a  lank  gray  horse  rounding  the  hill  road 
added  a  graphic  detail  to  the  scene,  though  in- 
stead of  a  mailed  knight  he  bore  only  a  bare- 
legged lad,  who  straddled  a  housing  of  ancient 
blanket. 

The  Cumberland  bent  like  a  hook  in  its  high 
banks.  The  bridge  was  a  mere  web,  a  thing 
of  froth  and  spray,  caught  in  the  foliage  of  the 
cliffs.  The  red  church  spire  was  more  than 
ever  like  a  rapier  painted  to  the  hilt ;  and  above 
the  far-off  tracks  the  railway  signal,  like  a 
scarlet  cap  lifted  on  a  bayonet,  suggested  some 
wild  trophy  of  war,  set  off  against  the  sadder 
emblem  of  carnage  and  defeat. 

"  There  wasnH  no  fighting  hereabouts  during 
the  war,"  remarked  McBeath,  pausing — *'at 
least,  not  any  nearer  than  Mill  Springs.  But 
that  there  lightning-burned  tree  yender  used  to 
be  a  staff  for  signals.  It's  got  bullets  in  it,  too. 
Look  at  that  one  peeping  from  the  rotten  bark. 
I  reckon  the  soldiers  fired  into  it  for  luck.'' 

Dillon  picked  up  a  fragment  of  wood  in 
which  a  blue,  leaden  spot  shone  dully.    "  Noth- 


164  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

ing  altogether  belittles  the  dignity  of  a  bullet," 
he  said.  "  I  respect  a  bullet.  It  has  an 
air  of  potentiality.  It  may  not  be  doing  any 
harm,  but  it  looks  capable  of  it,  like  the  eye 
of  a  pretty  nun." 

"  One  of  the  biggest  trees  in  our  walnut 
tract  has  a  spike  of  lead  in  it,"  advanced  Mc- 
Beath.  "  It's  the  one  Conner  was  laying  un- 
der when  they  found  him.  Yes,  sir,  it's  been 
there  thirty  year.  The  more  I  think  of  it 
the  more —  Why,  say,  Mr.  Dillon,  I'll  tell  you 
what's  come  into  my  head  this  last  day  or  so. 
You  remember  passing  the  remark  that  every- 
thing seemed  to  hinge  on  a  letter — " 

"  I  suppose  there  isn't  much  doubt  of  my 
profound  observation  being  true,  Mac  !" 

"  Er — no.  But  seems  like  I  got  a  new  light 
on  it  when  you  says  it  over,  kind  of  signifying 
and  slow." 

"  I'm  glad  if  I  said  anything  of  an  enlight- 
ening nature — I  didn't  know  it,  certainly  !" 

McBeath  faltered  a  little.  ''  Well,  I  didn't 
know  whether  you  meant  anything  or  not." 

"  Meant  anything  ?  What  are  you  driving 
at,  McBeath  ?"  Dillon  turned  with  an  inquiring 
frown,  dropping  the  hand  through  which  he 
had  been  looking  at  the  Daniel  Boone,  a  nut- 
shell of  a  boat,  resembling  a  fleck  of  rust  on 
the  scythe-like  twist  of  the  river. 


B0UI7D  IN  SHALLOWS  165 

''I  somehow  got  the  notion,"  stammered 
McBeath,  "  that  you  sympathized  with  me,  and 
felt  like  I  do  about  its  being  dog-gone  fool- 
ishness to  keep  that  tract  standing  while  we 
search  all  over  creation  for  some  one  to  come 
and  claim  it.  And  about  the — the  letter, 
you  know.  Why,  I  figured  round,  and  Fll  tell 
you  the  idea  that  struck  me.  S'pos'n'  my 
mother  could  be  got  to  sign  a  quit-deed  or 
some  such  thing,  would  there  be  anything 
wrong  in  me  selling  the  walnut  and  building 
me  a  house  and  laying  the  rest  of  the  money  by 
at  good  interest,  so  in  case  the  Conner  heirs 
turns  up  I  could  hand  'em  over  the  balance, 
and  give  'em  a  mortgage  on  the  new  house, 
if  they  didn't  see  fit  to  allow  me  that  much  for 
my  trouble  in  keeping  the  timber  for  'em?" 

*'I  don't  see  anything  wrong  in  that.  Only 
— your  mother — how  would  you  satisfy  her 
morbid  scruples  ?" 

McBeath  caught  joyously  at  the  last  words. 
"  That's  it !"  he  cried.  "  She's  plumb  mor- 
bid over  this  business.  And  when  folks  gets 
all  skew-gee  brooding  on  things,  why,  it  seems 
only  right  to  straighten 'em  out,  even — even — " 

"  If  one  has  to  use  strategy  ?" 

*'  Yes,  sir.  Trouble  is,  I  ain't  much  of  a 
mechanic  that  way.  When  it  comes  to  de- 
ceiving any  one — " 


166  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

"  Deceiving  ?  Are  you  thinking  of —  But  it's 
your  own  business.  Of  course,  we  both  know 
that  truth  is  only  a  question  of  the  point  of 
view.  A  hawk  looks  white  as  a  dove  in  some 
lights." 

"  Of  course.  Everything's  the  way  you  look 
at  it,  ain't  it  ?  At  the  same  time — why — you 
see,  I  hate  to  come  right  out  and  tell  my  mother 
what  isn't  true,  and  let  on  that  I've  had  Avord 
from  Butte  City  when  I  haven't.  Beating  round 
the  bush  wouldn't  work  with  my  maw.  She'd 
ask  me  flat-footed  if  the  woman  was  dead." 

"  And  do  you  know  she  isn't  ?"  Dillon's 
voice  had  a  note  of  weariness. 

McBeath  brightened  as  he  declared  that, 
after  all,  he  would  probably  be  inside  the  lim- 
its of  strict  truthfulness  if  he  should  positively 
announce  Maria  Conner's  demise.  They  had 
begun  to  go  down  the  briery  path,  disturbing 
a  covey  of  little  brown  birds  which,  like  a  rush 
of  dry  leaves,  fluttered  on  before  them.  Dil- 
lon began  to  speak  of  the  nature  and  habits  of 
these  small  creatures,  dismissing,  ajDparently, 
all  thought  of  McBeath  and  McBeatli's  plans 
and  projects.  Alexa's  lover  began  to  look 
troubled  at  this  withdrawal  of  interest.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill  he  stopped. 

"  Do  you  want  to  handle  that  timber  ?"  said 
he,  in  a  sort  of  brusque,  defiant  fashion. 


BOUND  IN  SHAIiLOWS  167 

Dillon  glanced  mildly  into  the  other's  per- 
turbed face.  "When  it's  in  the  market,"  he 
said,  "  I  should  certainly  like  to  have  a  chance 
at  it." 

McBeath  kicked  a  stone  out  of  the  way. 
"  Half  down,  you  said  ?" 
**  That  is  usual,  I  believe." 
"  Could  it  be  fixed  by  next  week  ?" 
"  Oh,  I  think  so  \"  smiled  Dillon,  watching 
the  train  swing  into  sight  across  the  bridge. 


XIV 

"If  'twas  me,"  sighed  Mrs.  Bohun,  while 
she  threaded  a  needle  in  a  dreamy  way,  *'  I'd 
have  me  a  porch  facing  the  station,  so's  I  could 
set  out  and  see  who  came  and  went  on  trains. 
And  I'd  have  a  good  big  press  built  off  the 
kitchen,  so's  I  could  just  pile  the  dishes  into 
it  and  leave  'em  stand  overnight  when  I  didn't 
feel  like  worshin'  'em.     And  every  last — " 

"Ma,"  broke  in  Alexa,  "do  quit  planning 
over  that  house  !  Why,  Beau  isn't  really  paid 
down  on  the  lot  yet." 

"  Well,  he's  got  it  all  picked  out,  ain't  he  ? 
Law,  Elex,  it's  a  great  mercy  that  his  timber 
track's  all  out  of  litigation !  I  was  right  pleased 
when  word  came  that  he  could  go  ahead  and 
sell.  Of  course,"  interpolated  Mrs.  Bohun,  with 
an  afterthought,  "  I  mourned  as  sincere  as  any 
one  over  Maria  Conner  being  gone,  but  she's 
better  off,  and  Ave  got  to  bow  to  God's  will. 
And  seein'  we  never  knew  her  makes  it  easier 
to  bear !" 


BOTJND  m  SHA.LL0W8  169 

A  great  scarlet-and- white  quilt,  pieced  in  the 
"  Lost  Lover"  design,  was  spread  on  stretchers 
in  the  family-room,  and  at  one  end  of  it  Mrs. 
Bohun,  bending  over  the  frame,  was  taking 
little  stitches  in  the  checkered  surface.  Alexa 
sat  opposite,  languidly  drawing  her  needle 
through  the  squares. 

"  Seems  like  you  ain't  half  as  proud  of  the 
fine  new  house  Beau's  going  to  raise  for  you  as 
I  was  over  the  log-cabin  your  paw  took  me  to. 
Law,  them  was  days  !  Both  Pulaski  County,  we 
was,  born  and  raised.  Our  kin  immygrated 
from  TenmQsy  mighty  nigh  a  hundred  year  ago, 
Elex.  Yes,  'n'  they  fit  the  Injuns.  I've  heard 
your  great-gran'pap  Hopper  narrate  about  fight- 
ing under  Lieutenant  McClure  and  downing 
a  hull  raft  of  redskins  up  yender.  They  had 
slaves  in  Pulaski  in  them  days,  and  a  full  and 
plenty  of  everything — wild  turkey  and  deer  for 
the  powder,  and  good  crops  and  fine  whiskey 
to  their  hand.  And,  law,  the  log-raisin's  and 
corn-huskin's  they  used  to  have  !  These  hill 
folks,  they  hold  their  heads  high  and  are  mighty 
notionate  and  fine-haired,  but  they  hain't  any 
idy  of  real  good  times.  Not  one  of  'em's 
simon-pure  Pulaski.  I  wouldn't  wish  to  throAv 
it  up  to  'em,  of  course,  but  so  'tis.  Now  your 
great-gran'pap  Hopper  minded  well  when  they 
wasn't  but  the   one  store  in  Somerset.     He 


170  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

was  Pulaski  to  the  backbone.  Law  me,  Elex, 
yon*ll  have  to  take  lesser  stitches  than  them  ! 
I  wonldn^t  have  old  lady  McBeath  pitch  an  eye 
on  to  them  stitches  for  nothing  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  She's  a  terrible  finicky  house- 
keeper, they  tell." 

Alexa  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  a  dark- 
ening face.  "  She  won't  be  called  on  to  over- 
look my  affairs,"  said  the  girl.  "I  don't  feel 
any  too  friendly  since  I  heard  she  named  it 
that  she  didn't  believe  in  Beau's  building,  and 
that  I'd  ought  to  be  satisfied  to  come  and  live 
in  the  old  place.    Huh,  I'd  like  to  see  myself  !" 

"  I'd  rather  pull  fodder  for  a  living  than  live 
with  a  husband's  folks,"  agreed  Mrs.  Bohun. 
''Young  couples  ought  to  be  to  theirse'ves. 
I've  never  yet  seen  the  house  was  big  enough 
for  two  families.  Hark,  Elex ;  ain't  that  No.  10 
blowing  ?    Kun  and  see  if  anybody  gets  off." 

Dillon  was  swinging  himself  to  the  rear  plat- 
form of  the  North-bound  train  as  Alexa  reached 
the  window.  He  wore  the  air  of  contentment 
which  had  lately  become  usual  with  him,  and 
was  waving  a  gay  farewell  to  some  one  on  the 
station  steps  —  probably  to  Corinne  Morrow, 
who,  as  the  train  moved  and  the  throng  on  the 
tracks  lessened,  disclosed  herself  in  her  father's 
hand,  still  tossing  kisses  after  the  vanishing 
cars.     Alexa's  lips  tightened. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  171 

"  How  I  hate  him  V*  she  thought.  And  in  an 
instant,  as  Dillon's  smiling  eyes  and  gesture  of 
farewell  were  still  before  her,  she  repeated,  "  I 
hate  him  V  and  caught  a  sob  in  her  throat  and 
lost  the  haunting  vision  in  hot  tears. 

Meantime  Dillon,  unfolding  a  newspaper, 
had  composed  himself  for  the  half -day's  jour- 
ney to  Cincinnati,  and  while  his  eyes  scanned 
the  news  was  arranging  certain  details  of  a 
coming  interview  with  his  uncle.  He  had  writ- 
ten to  Mr.  Burkely  that  in  spite  of  his  own  un- 
worthiness  he  had  found  grace  with  Lucy.  He 
had  not,  so  he  wrote,  deceived  her  in  the  gen- 
eral matter  of  his  past  life.  As  to  the  actual 
happening  which  most  deeply  marred  that 
past,  this,  he  said,  he  had  not  spoken  of.  His 
heart  failed  him  when  he  thought  of  reading 
to  Lucy  so  dark  a  page,  not  because  he  feared 
that  she  would  turn  from  him  in  contempt — 
for  she  was  too  sweet  and  gentle  to  despise  a 
broken  heart  and  contrite  spirit — but  because 
he  could  not  bear  to  shadow  her  youth  with 
such  knowledge  of  sin.  Lucy  had  lifted  him 
from  the  ashes  where  he  lay;  she  had  saved 
him,  renewed  him,  knowing  that  he  had  walked 
in  dark  and  thorny  ways  and  taken  many  a 
hurt.  Was  it  necessary  that  she  should  have 
to  see  in  ugly  exactitude  the  grinning  shape  of 
every  gin  which  had  taken  him  by  the  heel  ? 


173  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

Was  it  not  wiser  to  leave  these  traps  and  toils 
in  obscurity,  telling  her  only  of  their  presence, 
and  saving  her  from  the  pain  of  actual  sight  ? 

Dillon  said  that  he  had  often  and  anxiously 
pondered  upon  the  question,  and  had  decided 
against  the  revelation  of  any  knowledge  which 
may  be  depended  on  to  embitter  an  innocent 
soul.  Over  the  new  life  to  which  his  spirit 
looked  with  so  much  hope  and  thankfulness  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  cast  a  darkness  that 
must  change  Lucy's  sunlight  into  shade.  His 
own  days  could  never  free  themselves  from  a 
bleak  and  hateful  memory  ;  but  Lucy  ! — must 
Lucy  bear,  too,  the  burden  of  his  shame  ? 

So  Dillon  had  written,  adding  that  if  his 
uncle  believed  it  wiser  to  disclose  everything 
to  Lucy's  people,  he  would  bow  to  the  decree. 
In  reply  Mr.  Burkely  had  telegraphed  :  ^'Can- 
not decide;  come  North  at  once;  much  dis- 
turbed." 

This  message  arrived  in  the  nick  of  time,  for 
the  matter  of  the  Avalnut  wood  had  meanwhile 
arisen,  and  Dillon's  need  of  seeing  Mr.  Burkely 
had  become  additionally  imperative.  He  had 
a  feeling  that  it  would  not  be  hard  to  jiersuade 
his  uncle  to  agree  with  him  regarding  the  folly 
of  distressing  Lucy  with  those  old  mischances. 
And  as  to  the  question  of  the  walnut,  Dillon 
was  sure  that  Mr.  Burkely  would  find  satisfac- 


B0T7ND  VH  SHALLOWS  178 

tion  and  pride  in  assisting  him  with  the  pre- 
liminary payments. 

"  So  he  gave  you  the  option,  did  he,  as  soon 
as  he  came  into  possession — this  young  man 
McBeath  ?  Preferred  to  deal  with  you  rather 
than  the  mill  ?"  the  old  man  would  chuckle. 
**Well,  Burkely,  it  seems  to  pay — this  being 
an  agreeable  fellow.  Go  ahead,  my  lad,  and  of 
course  you  may  draw  on  me  for  the  advance.'* 

A  prevision  of  this  cheerful  declaration  was 
running  in  Dillon's  head  as  he  glanced  from 
the  window  at  Junction  City  and  saw  the 
South-bound  train  on  the  opposite  track.  A 
man  in  the  smoking-car  nodded  towards  him 
in  a  gruff  fashion.  It  was  Dunbar,  red  and 
square  of  visage  behind  the  lowered  pane. 

"  What's  taking  the  fellow  North  ?"  mused 
the  mill  president,  returning  to  his  cigar. 
**  Mischief  of  some  sort,  no  doubt.  Yet  it 
isn't  easy  to  associate  the  idea  of  mischief 
with  that  eye  of  his.  And  his  diffidence,  or 
f  urtiveness,  or  whatever  it  is,  rather  prejudices 
a  man  in  his  favor."  Dunbar  sighed.  "  Poor 
Nat !  he  doesn't  appeal  to  the  imagination,  I 
suppose.  Lucy  couldn't  identify  him  with  her 
ideals.  He's  too  simply  planned,  too  obvious- 
ly good.  Not  theatrically  and  imposingly  good, 
but  plainly  and  uudramatically  upright,  with- 
out wings  or  halo.    This  other  fellow,  no  doubt, 


174  BOUND  IN   SHALLOAVS 

seems  to  her  mnch  more  of  a  man.  His  sins, 
if  she  knows  them,  probably  seem  to  her  evi- 
dences of  superior  virility.  Women  have  some- 
how got  the  idea  that  vice  in  men  is  sex ;  that 
we  are  masculine  in  proportion  as  we  are  bad. 
In  such  a  condition  of  things  a  young  man's 
got  to  have  considerable  moral  courage  to  vent- 
ure to  live  decently.  All  women's  fault ! — all 
their  fault !  Well,  thank  God,  I've  no  mission 
to  set  the  times  right.  Let  'em  wag !  My 
present  object  is  to  climb  the  bluff  and  request 
a  few  words  with  Major  Morrow." 

Yet  this  duty  was  not  an  enviable  one,  and 
on  alighting  from  the  train  at  Streamlet,  Dun- 
bar looked  about  to  see  if  Taliaferro  might  not 
be  in  sight  for  a  moment  of  strengthening  con- 
ference. The  doctor,  however,  did  not  seem 
to  be  among  the  men  on  the  platform,  and 
upon  asking  for  him  in  the  oiB&ce  he  found  that 
he  was  supposed  to  be  "down  Tateville  way." 

When  Dunbar  finally  came  down  the  hotel 
steps  addressed  doggedly  to  his  task  it  was  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  the  four-o'clock  express 
had  already  thundered  by,  casting  the  usual 
mail-bag  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  where  it  lay 
in  a  brown  heap.  A  white  cow  stretched  itself 
at  ease  in  the  path,  mouthing  its  cud  with  plac- 
id, black -lined  lips,  and  switching  a  long  tail 
over  its  ridging  back.     Dunbar  stepped  around 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  176 

the  recumbent  shape  and  made  his  way  up  the 
last  little  rise  of  the  road. 

Under  one  of  the  great  wayside  trees  a  pile 
of  cedar  posts  lay  in  a  square  block,  and  at  sight 
of  them  Dunbar  felt  a  desire  to  sit  and  rest 
himself  in  the  shade ;  but  though  he  paused  he 
did  not  yield  to  his  inclination  to  stop  and  en- 
joy the  prospect  and  so  put  off  the  evil  hour, 
but  only  planted  his  feet  more  firmly  in  the 
road  and  pressed  forward. 

All  the  roses  in  the  Morrows'  yard  were  past 
blooming,  and  many  of  the  slender,  finely  pi- 
coted  leaves  of  the  thick  coppice  were  white  now 
and  transparent  with  the  ravages  of  some  worm 
or  bug.  The  lawn  was  fresh  as  ever,  and  the 
porch  vines  had  still  a  wide  purple  flower  here 
and  there  in  their  dark  tangles,  like  a  scatter- 
ing of  gems  in  a  woman's  hair.  Behind  them, 
according  to  his  habit,  the  Major  sat  drowsing. 
At  the  sound  of  Dunbar's  steps  he  awakened 
with  his  customary  dignity  and  rose. 

"  Well,"  said  Dunbar,  seating  himself,  ^'this 
weather  doesn't  look  much  like  a  tide." 

**  Singularly  dry,"  agreed  the  Major — "singu- 
larly so."  And  presently,  as  Dunbar  continued 
to  maintain  an  embarrassed  and  peculiar  si- 
lence, he  asked,  **Have  you  lately  returned 
from  the  North  ?" 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Dunbar,  put  to  the  plunge 


176  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

by  this  opening.  *'Yes — just  got  in  an  hour 
since.  And,  Major,  while  I  was  in  Cincinnati 
I  had  occasion  to  look  rather  narrowly  into  the 
ways  of  a  }■  oung  man  in  whom  perhaps  you,  as 
well  as  myself,  have  some  interest.  I  speak  of 
Mr.  Burkely's  nephew.  It — it  isn't  a  pleasant 
topic.  I  don't  know  just  how  to  begin  to — to 
speak  of  the  matter." 

He  seemed  indeed  at  a  loss,  and  the  Maj  or  mur- 
mured, deeply,  "  You  surprise  me  very  much." 

Dunbar  took  breath,  and  faced  round  and 
struck  into  his  story.  He  made  short  work  of 
the  relation,  sitting  bolt-upright,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  distant  rivers.  At  the  end  of  a  moment 
the  Major  also  had  become  very  erect  in  his 
chair,  and,  with  his  immobile  eyes  fixed  incred- 
ulously on  the  other's  rubicund  face,  Avas  strik- 
ing his  knee  in  a  disturbed  fashion. 

*'  I  can  scarcely  credit  this,"  he  confessed. 
"There  is  no  possibility  of  mistake  ?" 

"No,  Major  Morrow,  I'm  sadly  afraid  there 
isn't.  I  went  to  the  Jonases  myself.  As  I  was 
already  in  possession  of  the  facts,  they  couldn't 
well  deny  me  the  word  of  confirmation  which 
was  all  I  asked.  Oh,  Burkely  shouldn't  have 
concealed  this  thing — at  least,  not  from  me  !  If 
he'd  been  frank  with  me  I  should  have  taken 
the  young  man  into  the  mill  just  the  same,  for 
I  only  did  it,  anyway,  on  Burkely's  account,  and 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  177 

it  might  have  made  a  difference" — Dunbar 
hesitated — "  in  some  other  directions." 

Tlie  Major  seemed  to  be  plunged  in  thought. 
After  a  moment  he  said,  slowly,  '*  Yes,  it 
might  have  made  a  difference.  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  Mr.  Dillon  has  been  on  a  very  familiar 
footing  in  my  family — yes,  very.  In  short,  I 
have  listened  to  his  proposal  for  my  daughter's 
hand."  The  Major's  voice  had  a  moved  ac- 
cent, and  Dunbar,  greatly  distressed,  rose  sud- 
denly. 

Women  were  talking  somewhere  within  the 
house,  and  a  girl's  laughter  rang  out  softly  as 
Dunbar  said  :  '^  I  am  pained — ^pained.  Major, 
believe  me,  I — " 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  for  an  inestimable  ser- 
vice," Major  Morrow  interposed,  also  rising. 
He  had  a  worried  look  as  he  added :  "I  am 
afraid  to  think  how  this  will  affect  Lucy.  She 
— I'm  afraid  she  is  very  much  attached  to  the 
young  man." 

"Better  a  single  sharp  wrench  than  a  life- 
long anguish,"  fell  in  Dunbar,  grasping  the 
Major's  hand.  "  Good-bye.  I  hope  I've  acted 
wisely.  I've  tried  to.  Good-bye,  Major  !"  And 
he  tramped  down  the  walk,  clearing  his  throat 
with  some  violence. 

An  hour  later,  as  the  west  began  to  yellow 

for  sunset  and  birds  were  noisily  disputing  for 
la 


i 


178  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

sleeping-quarters  in  the  persimmon-trees  near 
the  gate,  Mrs.  Morrow,  who  had  been  engaged  in 
a  long  conference  with  her  husband,  appeared 
at  the  library  door,  pressing  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes  and  murmuring  :  "  My  poor,  sweet 
child  !  Oh,  Major,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  tell 
her  !     Oh,  Lucy !  Lucy  !" 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  insisted  the  Major;  but 
though  his  tone  was  not  in  the  least  insistent, 
Mrs.  Morrow  began  to  demur. 

"  No,"  she  sobbed — "  no.  Major ;  it  is  a  wom- 
an's part.  I  do  not  say  you  would  not  try  to 
break  this  dreadful  news  gently ;  but  a  mother. 
Major — a  mother  will  find  the  tenderest  way." 
She  composed  herself  thereupon,  and  crossed 
the  wide  hall  and  halted  in  the  open  doorway 
of  the  drawing-room  beyond. 

The  frilled,  thin  curtains  were  moving  in 
the  evening  air,  a  breath  of  which  rippled  also 
through  the  fleece  of  a  great  white  pelt  before 
the  log -heaped  fireplace.  Even  the  sharply 
split  leaves  of  a  tall  palm  in  a  comer  stirred  a 
little  in  the  soft  breeze.  Everything  had  an 
aspect  of  life  and  energy,  and  Lucy's  hand,  as 
it  moved  among  the  small  teacups  of  a  spidery, 
old-fashioned  cherry  table  near  the  south  win- 
dow, seemed  to  be  impelled  with  the  same 
gentle  force  which  animated  the  objects  round 
about. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  179 

"  Are  yon  going  to  have  some  tea  at  last  ?" 
inquired  Lncy,  regarding  the  tiny  spurt  of  flame 
below  the  small  brass  kettle.  "  It's  really  too 
late.  But  you  all  seemed  so  deeply  engaged  in 
the  library  that  I  didn't  venture  to  disturb  you. 
The  water  seems  to  be  all  boiled  away.  Will  you 
wait  ?"  She  looked  up  from  the  pretty  array 
of  blue  delf  and  bits  of  fringed  linen  and  little 
spoons.  Above  her  the  greenish  wall  gleamed 
with  a  narrow  mirror,  branching  at  the  base 
in  two  spiring  groups  of  wax-candles,  which 
seemed  to  repeat  the  sunset-tinged  whiteness 
of  her  simple,  short-waisted  frock  and  the  shine 
of  the  pearl  in  the  single  ring  upon  her  hand. 

"  Lucy  I"  said  Mrs.  Morrow,  coming  nearer. 
"  Oh,  Lucy  \" 

Lucy  turned  sharply,  with  her  brownish  eyes 
aghast  and  her  lips  falling  apart  in  a  horror  of 
apprehension. 

*'  Don't  look  so  frightened,"  besought  Mrs. 
Morrow.  "Nothing  is — is  wrong.  That  is — 
oh,  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  tell  it !  Mr.  Dil- 
lon—" 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  whispered  Lucy. 

"Dead  ?  No,  he  isn't  dead.  Perhaps  if  he 
were  it  would  be  just  as  well !" 

"  Mamma !" 

"  Lucy,  I  mean  it.  I  fear  we  have  all  been 
very  much  deceived  in  Mr.  Dillon — very,  very 


180  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

mnch  deceived.  "We  have  just  discovered  that 
he  hasn't  been  at  all  frank  with  us  about  him- 
self. Lucy,  he  hasn't  been — what  he  should 
have  been !" 

Lucy  mechanically  set  straight  the  lid  of  the 
tea-caddy.  Her  delicately  lined  brov,^s  were 
twitching. 

"  He  hasn't  deceived  ?ne,"  she  said.  "From 
the  very  first  he  told  me  that — " 

"  Yes,  Lucy.  In  a  large,  general  way  he  in- 
dicated that  his  life  had  not  been  altogether 
irreproachable.  He  intimated  this  to  us  all, 
and  we  thought  him  laudably  conscientious. 
But  he  didn't  tell  us,  Lucy,  that  he'd  been  real- 
ly dishonorable.  He  didn't  say  that  he'd  be- 
trayed a — a  business  trust,  and  that  if  his  uncle 
had  not  settled  everything  he  would  have  had 
to  suffer  the  punishment  appointed  for  such 
deeds." 

Lucy  was  standing  up  and  pushing  back  her 
light,  bright  hair  as  if  it  blinded  her.  "  Dis- 
honorable !"  she  repeated,  in  a  sort  of  vacant 
voice.     "  "What — how — " 

'^  Dearest  child,  it  is  only  too  plain  —  his 
wrong- doing.  But,  thank  Heaven,  we  have 
found  out  his  unworthiness  in  time.  He  has 
been  dishonest,  Lucy,  and  sadly  dissipated  as 
well.  Your  father  will  tell  you  the  details  if 
you  want  to  hear  them." 


BOXJND  IK   SHALLOWS  181 

Lucy  had  taken  a  step  towards  the  door,  still 
with  a  look  of  dtilness  in  her  white  face.  **  I 
have  got  to  hear  them,"  she  said,  heavily.  And 
then  her  voice,  her  glance,  became  suddenly 
infused  with  life.  *'  But  I  am  sure — sure  be- 
forehand— that  there  will  be  nothing  I  do  not 
know  or  cannot  forgive." 

She  brushed  into  the  hall,  and  Mrs.  Morrow, 
dropping  into  a  capacious  chair,  fell  to  weep- 
ing. Some  time  later  she  heard  a  door  close, 
and,  bending  forward,  she  heard  Lucy  going 
slowly  up  the  curving  staircase. 

"  Lucy,"  she  cried,  gently,  "  has  he  told  you  ? 
Have  you — " 

Lucy  looked  over  the  baluster,  upon  which 
her  arm  lay  heavily.  She  was  mortally  white. 
Her  features  seemed  shrunken  and  hollow. 
'*Yes,"  she  said,  simply,  "  I  have  heard  every- 
thing. When  Mr.  Dillon  comes  back,  will  you 
tell  him  that  I  would  rather  not  see  him  any 
more  ?" 


XV 


Two  days  afterwards,  as  the  afternoon  train 
bnrst  from  the  darkness  of  the  tunnel  and  shot 
out  upon  the  airy  brightness  of  the  lofty  bridge, 
Dillon,  gathering  up  his  luggage,  was  sensible 
of  a  throb  of  pronounced  happiness.  He  had 
been  away  scarcely  half  a  week,  yet  his  return 
had  the  zest  of  a  long  and  enforced  absence; 
and  when  he  looked  from  the  window  and  saw 
how  beautiful  Streamlet  was  in  its  autumnal 
guise,  he  said  to  himself  that  his  pleasure  in 
seeing  the  knob  again  was  explainable  on  more 
grounds  than  one. 

All  over  the  hills  a  mingling  sheen  of  red 
and  saffron  and  purple  subtilized  the  waning 
foliage,  while  the  coarse  grass  and  tall  weeds  of 
the  lowlands  were  matted  in  a  snarl  of  dull 
olive.  Through  thinning  masks  of  leaf  the  stern 
faces  of  the  cliffs  began  to  frown,  and  where  a 
hint  of  white  had  scarcely  touched  the  wayside 
thickets  walls  of  little  houses  were  stealing  into 
sight.    Summer  seemed  as  if  catching  together 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  183 

her  green  skirts,  drawing  in  their  rich  abun- 
dance for  a  swift  departure.  Already  her  light 
foot  faltered  in  the  fat  valley,  and  the  mellow 
atmosphere  hung  low  and  soft,  as  it  might  be 
in  a  parting  benediction. 

Mountain  showers  had  swollen  the  rivers 
enough  to  enliven  trade  a  little  in  the  town, 
the  mill-stacks  were  misted  in  vaporous  whiie, 
stave  -  buckers  were  beating  away  at  piles  of 
rugged  oak,  and  certain  crimson-wrapped  par- 
cels in  the  arms  of  an  occasional  passer  in  the 
lower  roads  indicated  increased  activity  on  the 
part  of  the  stores. 

Everything  had  prospered  in  Dillon's  hand 
during  his  absence.  Mr.  Burkely  had  made  no 
question  of  his  willingness  to  advance  whatever 
might  be  necessary  in  concluding  the  purchase 
of  the  McBeath  timber,  and  he  had  further- 
more expressed  considerable  interest  in  his 
nephew's  plans. 

"So  they've  at  last  put  the  wood  on  the 
market,  have  they  ?"  he  said.  "  I've  heard  that 
there  was  some  legal  complication  in  the  case. 
Be  sure  of  your  ground,  Burkely.  This  is  quite 
a  deal  for  you,  my  boy — quite  a  deal.  We  will 
show  them  yet  that  you  are  a  trader !"  Then, 
with  a  different  and  less  assured  manner,  he 
continued,  "  I  wish  I  felt  as  able  to  decide 
upon  this  other  business — this  affair  which  con- 


184  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

cems  Miss  Morrow.  Of  course,  it  pleases  me 
to  know  that  you  have  won  the  regard  of  such 
a  girl  as  she  appears  to  be.  I  remember  her 
very  well.  She  seemed  to  me  a  nice,  maidenly 
young  girl,  like  the  girls  in  the  books  I  read 
when  I  was  young — girls  who  wore  roses  in 
their  hair,  and  blushed  easily,  and  belonged 
generally  to  the  soft  and  milky  rabble  of  woman- 
kind that  is  so  despised  nowadays.  At  first  I 
had  an  idea  that  Miss  Morrow  might  be  of  the 
modern  type  a  man  hears  so  much  about  — 
critical,  and  full  of  philosophies  and  theories 
and  God  knows  what.  But  after  I  had  looked 
at  her  a  while  she  seemed  to  me  very  young 
and  gentle  somehow,  and  I  felt — I  felt  as  if  I 
should  have  spoken  more  plainly  concerning 
you.  I'm  an  old-fashioned  man,  you  see,  and 
it  touched  me — her  not  seeming  exactly  of  the 
highly  intellectual  and  determinedly  progres- 
sive order,  but  just  a  simple-hearted  girl,  like 
the  girls  I  told  you  I  used  to  read  of  and  like. 
These  girls  who  used  to  be  po]3ular  in  stories 
had  always,  I  recall,  the  firmest  sort  of  prin- 
ciples, despite  their  liability  to  faint  away  when 
anything  happened.  Maybe  that's  why  Miss 
Morrow  reminded  me  of  them.  There's  a  sort 
of  austerity  in  her  face,  Burkely,  though  it's 
a  little  face  enough,  and  soft-featured,  and  all 
that.    I  remarked  it.    And  I'm  not  so  sure  she 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  185 

would  take  certain — revelations  which,  I  be- 
lieve, ought  to  be  made,  as  composedly  as  you 
fancy.  A  few  simple,  primal  intuitions  of 
right  and  wrong,  honor  and  shame — these  are 
harder  to  combat  than  any  amount  of  theories 
and  philosophies  and  systems." 

**  You  think,  then,  that  in  being  frank  with 
Lucy  I  would  risk  everything  that  gives  my 
life  promise  ?" 

"  Burkely,  I—" 

*'  Yet  you  are  going  to  induce  me  to  tell  her 
the  whole  wretched  business.  Very  well.  I 
had  hoped  to  save  her  the  pain  of  it.  That 
is  all.  For  I  believe  you  are  mistaken  in  think- 
ing she  won't  forgive  me." 

"  Perhaps,  Burkely,  perhaps."  The  old 
man's  tones  were  incredulous  but  wavering. 

After  this  they  talked  over  the  matter  a  long 
time  and  from  different  points  of  view,  till 
finally  Mr.  Burkely,  worn  out  and  unsettled, 
conceded  the  argument.  "  You  may  be  right," 
he  said.  "  I  seem  to — to  feel  that  you  may  be 
wiser  than  I  in  this.     But — " 

**  I  don't  want  to  oppose  your  judgment." 

"  "Well,  well,"  commented  the  other,  with  a 
kind  of  querulous  impatience,  "  let  things  be. 
You're  not  trying  to  save  yourself.  That's 
what  persuades  me.  You're  trying  to  save 
her." 


186  BOUND  IN  SH^VLLOWS 

Dillon  felt  sure  he  had  no  other  motive  than 
the  generous  one  imputed  to  him,  and  he  be- 
gan to  have  a  nobly  sacrificial  sort  of  feeling, 
as  if,  somehow,  his  own  burden  were  made 
heavier  by  his  refusal  to  slip  half  of  it  upon 
Lucy's  shoulders.  Some  pleasant  haunting  of 
this  sentiment  was  still  with  him  Avhen  he 
reached  the  hotel  office  and  set  his  travelling 
traps  on  the  ink-stained  table  and  stood  de- 
bating upon  the  satisfaction  he  would  have  in 
seeing  Lucy  for  the  briefest  moment  before 
going  to  the  mill.  Unquestionably,  it  would 
stand  him  in  good  stead  to  go  straightway  to 
the  mill  and  exhibit  a  praiseworthy  interest 
in  business  affairs.  But  Lucy  Avas  to  be  con- 
sidered too ;  it  would  please  her  to  know  he 
had  yielded  to  his  desire  to  see  her  ;  and  upon 
this  gratifying  base  he  decided  to  go  up  hill 
instead  of  down. 

The  door  of  the  family-room  was  ajar,  and 
Mrs.  Bohun's  tones,  lifted  in  an  exculpatory 
accent,  ranged  through  the  office. 

"  I  done  what  I  could,  Mr.  McVeigh,"  she 
was  saying.  "  More,  angels  haven't  the  pow- 
er. I  sent  her  word  she  could  come  and  help 
with  the  worsh,  and  she  'lowed  she  had  a  hang- 
nail and  couldn't  rub.  And  I  got  out  a  passel 
of  sheets  for  her  to  turn  and  darn,  and  she 
sent  word  she'd  never  'd  had  no  knack  at  sew- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  187 

ing,  and  wouldn't  like  to  try.  So  findly  I 
told  the  boy  to  put  out  and  see  could  she  clean 
winders — a  thing,  Mr.  McVeigh,  Avhich,  I  pass 
my  word,  I  don't  need  done  no  more  'n  a  cat 
needs  two  tails — and  she  said  she'd  like  well 
to  oblige  me,  only  she  was  liable  to  get  dizzy 
setting  on  to  a  sill.  And  I  just  says,  'Well, 
if  that  Lete  Haight  can't  help  herse'f  some 
little,  it's  a  pore  show  for  them  as  tries  to  help 
her.'  She  ain't  honing  much  to  turn  a  new 
leaf,  Mr.  McVeigh.  Nature  is  nature.  A  buz- 
zard '11  leave  fresh  meat  any  day  for  carrion." 

"  But  by  mercy  and  truth  iniquity  is  purged," 
argued  the  preacher.  "  How  shall  we  answer 
in  the  last  day  if  we  have  been  slack  to  seek 
out  the  faltering  and  set  straight  the  feet  of 
them  that  stumble  ?" 

Mrs.  Bohun  cleared  her  throat  in  a  way 
which  suggested  that  she  had  taken  this  ques- 
tion as  an  imputation  upon  her  piety. 

''I  don't  know  how  some  '11  see  fit  to  an- 
swer," she  declared.  "  But  if  any  such  ques- 
tion's put  to  me,  I'll  say  flat-footed  that  I  had 
other  fish  to  fry.  I'll  tell  'em  all  that  since  I 
was  high  enough  to  pick  terbaccer  worms  off 
my  great-gran'pap  Hopper's  patch  I  've  labored 
and  slaved,  and  spun  and  wove,  and  worshed 
and  i'ned,  and  cooked  and  tended  babies,  and 
seen  to  my  family,  and  lent  a  hand  to  any  neigh- 


188  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

bor  who  was  sick  or  hard-pressed,  and  went  to 
meetin'  when  I  got  the  chance.  And  I'll  tell  'em 
that  I've  never  seen  the  time  when  I  was  free 
to  go  traipsin'  about  hunting  them  as  had  the 
same  sense  as  others  for  to  stick  to  the  path 
and  be  respected,  but  liked  it  better  to  cavort 
around  and  give  the  town  a  bad  name.  Though 
the  serryphims  and  them  should  thwack  me 
over  the  head  with  their  harps  for  being  so 
free,  I  should  tell  that  I  never  refused  bread 
to  the  hungry,  or  cherished  hard  feelin's  agin 
a  livin'  soul.  And  if  I  got  to  go  and  burn  in 
quenchless  fire  because  I  hain't  shed  tears  over 
thieves  and  rapscallions,  and  took  mean  v/omeu 
and  murderers  and  sots  to  my  bosom,  all  right, 
I  can  go,  and  no  bones  broke." 

The  preacher  began  to  expostulate,  and  Dil- 
lon went  on  his  way  smiling,  yet  with  an  in- 
definable discomfort,  which,  as  he  came  in 
range  of  the  Morrows'  dwelling,  entirely  dis- 
appeared. Beyond,  in  a  shady  place  at  the 
edge  of  the  bluff,  a  vroman  was  sitting — a 
woman  who,  upon  nearer  view,  appeared  to 
be  Mrs.  Morrow,  with  her  romantic  face  pen- 
sively inclined  upon  her  hand  and  a  great  vol- 
ume of  light  draperies  billowing  around  her 
on  the  grass. 

At  her  feet,  with  small  slippers  in  the  air, 
Corinne  lay  crooning  over  a  large  book  ;  it  was 


BOUND  m  SHALLOWS  189 

she  who  first  caught  sight  of  Dillon,  and  as 
she  did  so  she  scrambled  np  and  clapped  her 
hands  and  cried  out.  To  Dillon's  surprise 
Mrs.  Morrow  turned  upon  the  child  a  face  of 
stern  interdiction.  He  could  not  hear  her 
words,  but  he  saw  Corinne,  with  her  book 
clasped  to  her  bosom,  cross  the  road  and  let 
herself  in  at  the  gate  and  go  wailing  up  the 
path. 

A  forecast  of  wrong  and  trouble  retarded 
his  step.  Mrs.  Morrow,  without  regarding  his 
approach,  sat  in  some  appearance  of  awaiting 
it.  When  he  came  up  with  rather  an  uncer- 
tain phrase  of  greeting,  she  bowed,  but  so 
coldly  that  his  heart  failed. 

"Lucy,''  he  stammered,  **she  is  well  ?" 
Mrs.  Morrow's  eyelids  expressed  a  moderate 
confirmation  concerning  Lucy's  health.  **  She 
is  not  ill ;  but  of  course  the  storm  which 
has  broken  upon  her  has  not  been  with- 
out its  result.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  say, 
Mr.  Dillon,  that  we  have  all  suffered  very 
much  from  your — er — injustice  towards  us. 
You  have  deceived  us.  It  is,  of  course,  a  pain- 
ful subject.  Perhaps  it  will  be  better  not  to 
dwell  on  it.  Lucy  desires  me  to  say  that — 
that — "  She  felt  herself  hesitating.  In  Dil- 
lon's absence  it  had  seemed  impossible  not 
to  credit  the  proof  of  his  delinquencies.     In- 


190  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

dignation  towards  him  and  a  purpose  of  reso- 
lute austerity  were  easy  and  natural.  But 
now  that  he  sat  beside  her  on  the  bench^  with 
a  sort  of  boyish  wonder  and  perplexity  and 
pain  in  his  blue  eyes,  with  all  the  swarthy 
color  dying  in  his  face  and  a  piteous  tremor 
in  the  scrap  of  fair  beard,  it  was  unexpectedly 
difficult  to  believe  him  of  a  froward  and  repro- 
bate nature,  one  who  had  been  skilful  in  evil 
devices,  weak,  and  without  honor. 

As  to  Dillon,  a  darkness  seemed  to  be  widen- 
ing about  him.  Corinne's  distant  laments  mul- 
tiplied about  him  till  the  whole  soft  Septem- 
ber air  appeared  to  be  thronged  with  grieving 
spirits.  An  anguish  of  comprehension  en-' 
gulfed  him.  They  had  uncovered,  then,  his 
transgression ;  and  on  a  sudden  his  life  was 
laid  waste  and  empty,  with  a  breeding  of  net- 
tles where  roses  had  so  lately  been. 

"I  regret  it,"  said  Mrs.  Morrow,  not  very 
clear  as  to  what  she  was  saying,  and  overcome 
with  something  remarkably  like  pity  for  Dil- 
lon, who,  with  a  groan,  had  sunk  back  in  the 
seat.  He  looked  stunned.  His  hands  lay 
upon  his  knees,  and  though  his  lips  were  apart 
they  seemed  breathless. 

*^I  couldn^t  bear  to  have  her  know,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  My  dove,  my  dove !  I  couldn't  bear  to 
wound  her  !"    His  eyes  were  wet,  and  he  set  a 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  191 

dim  gaze  upon  the  ground.  "  I  knew  I  wasn't 
worthy  of  her.  If  I  had  known  her  sooner  I 
shouldn't  have  been  what  I  am.  And  even 
afterwards  she  could  have  made  anything  of 
me.  Honor  and  power  —  but  now  there  is 
nothing  left  for  me,  I  suppose,  but  perdition. 
The  shortest  way  is  the  way  I  had  better 
take." 

Mrs.  Morrow  began  to  have  a  queer  ob- 
struction in  her  throat.  She  wished  he  would 
try  to  exonerate  or  defend  himself,  so  that 
her  powers  of  reason  and  judgment  might 
make  way  against  the  emotion  which  was  ris- 
ing in  her  at  the  sight  of  his  simple  abasement. 
But  he  did  not  attempt  excuses,  and  at  length, 
"  You  had  bad  companions,  I  suppose  ?"  she 
advanced. 

Dillon  did  not  make  use  of  this  foothold. 
*'  I  was  my  own  worst  enemy,"  he  said,  in  a 
sort  of  still  despair.  "1  don't  think  any  one 
is  to  blame  for  my  folly.  I  don't  know  how  it 
happened.  I  was  down  before  I  realized  that 
I  had  stumbled.  And  afterwards  I  made  no 
effort.  I  had  nothing  to  live  for ;  not  even  a 
memory.  My  poor  mother,  always  pale  and 
scared,  my  father,  with  his  besotted  cruelties 
— these  weren't  things  to  look  back  on.  A 
stronger-fibred  man  might  have  felt  responsible 
for  himself.     I  am  not  strong,  except  in  my 


192  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

affections.  I  tliouglit  it  was  all  over  till  I 
met  Lucy.  She  could  have  saved  me.  I  was 
clay  in  her  hands.  Now" — he  cast  a  burning 
glance  about  him — ''now^  I  suppose,  I  shall 
never  see  her  again." 

Mrs.  Morrow  was  stammering,  "Perhaps 
it's  better  so.  She  —  she  does  not  wish  it — 
she—" 

At  the  first  word  Dillon  cried  out,  "Not 
that !  Oh,  not  that !  Let  me  see  her — once — 
only  once  more  !  She  was  to  be  my  wife  !  Oh, 
Lucy  r 

Mrs.  Morrow  was  convulsively  searching  for 
her  handkerchief.  The  Major  would  be  very 
angry  if  she  should  permit  Dillon  a  last  word 
with  Lucy  —  no  doubt  he  would  be  very 
angry ;  but  perhaps  they  had  been  too  severe 
in  their  Judgments  upon  this  stricken  young 
man,  whose  sins,  after  all,  lay  far  behind  him, 
and  of  whom  Lucy  might  have  made  anything. 
"  We  who  are  strong  ought  also  to  bear  the 
infirmities  of  the  weak,"  she  reminded  herself, 
apologetically.  What  right  had  she  or  any  one 
else  to  withhold  the  hand  from  a  fellow-creat- 
ure who  sought  to  lift  himself  from  the  edge 
of  an  abyss  ?  to  say  to  him,  "  Stand  by  thy- 
self ;  come  not  near  to  me,  for  I  am  holier 
than  thou  ?" 

"  Only  for  a  word,"  Dillon  was  pleading.   "I 


I 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  193 

won't  try  to   move  or  unsettle  her.     She  is 
right  to — to  decide  against  me." 

"I  may  be  doing  wrong/'  breathed  Mrs. 
Morrow,  "  but  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  refuse 
you.  Lucy  is  walking  in  the  highland  pas- 
ture out  behind  the  house.     I  hope — I — " 

Dillon  got  up  with  a  murmur  of  passionate 
gratitude,  and  turned  and  went  up  the  road  a 
little  way,  and  presently  vanished  in  the  path 
which  swings  about  the  brambly  knoll  over- 
looking the  bridge.  Beyond  the  blufE  a  reach 
of  wild  upland  grass  coursed  off  to  the  limit  of 
the  blue-and-white  sky.  Trees  grew  sparsely, 
and  the  bushes  were  low  and  threadbare  from 
the  sweep  of  high  winds.  Even  the  grass  had 
a  coarse,  dishevelled  look,  and  matted  the 
ground  in  a  confusion  of  sallow  green,  over 
which  a  small  herd  of  common  cattle  was 
browsing,  cropping  the  bearded  blade  and  nos- 
ing the  scattered  mullen. 

Across  the  rough  sward  a  cow-bell  or  two 
rang  peacefully,  and  there  was  no  other  sound 
except  the  light  rustling  of  the  breeze  and  the 
occasional  plaintive  outcry  of  a  red  calf,  which 
stood  in  the  shade  of  some  saplings  at  the  edge 
of  a  marshy  basin  to  the  southward. 

Hard  by  this  damp  hollow  a  solitary  beech, 
throttled  in  wild  grape-vines,  spread  its  branches 
against  the  low  blue  of  the  sky  with  an  effect 


BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 


of  ajopeal  against  the  crushing,  clinging  para- 
site. And  as  Dillon  came  upon  the  levels  and 
sped  a  hurried  eye  along  the  lonely  length  of 
houseless  highland,  he  saw  that  Lucy  was 
standing  near  the  tall  tree,  tranced  in  some  in- 
curious study  of  the  far-off  hills. 

He  drew  near  with  a  muffled  step,  hurt  to 
the  heart  at  the  difference  in  Lucy's  looks. 
In  the  little  lapse  of  these  few  maturing  days 
she  appeared  to  have  grown  visibly  older.  The 
hint  of  sternness  in  her  face  had  deepened  and 
developed,  and  a  kind  of  patient  and  repressed 
sorrow  clouded  her  spring-like  beauty.  She 
leaned  slightly  forward,  as  if  she  listened.  One 
hand  was  set  against  her  waist ;  the  other  hung 
as  if  it  had  dropped  in  a  heavy,  hopeless  gesture. 

All  the  smallest  details  of  her  presence  im- 
pressed themselves  on  Dillon  as  he  stayed  him- 
self to  watch  her  through  the  vague  green  of 
the  vines  which  encompassed  her  in  v,^oodland 
shades  and  set  vernal  traceries  upon  the  flat, 
colorless  folds  of  her  gown.  The  set  lines  of  her 
mouth,  the  sad  preoccupation  of  her  eyes,  the 
shining  of  the  loose  hair  about  her  brows,  these 
one  by  one  he  took  in,  not  missing  such  trifling 
things  as  the  gray  shade  on  the  breadth  of  her 
thin  sleeve,  or  the  fringe  of  Spanish  needles  in 
her  garment's  hem. 

Some  rustling  in  the  sun-cured  grass  carried 


BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS  195 

his  footstep  to  her,  and  without  appearing 
startled  Lucy  turned  a  quiet  face  and  saw  him. 
Her  attitude  had  barely  altered,  and  her  eyes 
fell  on  him  in  so  distant  and  composed  a  way 
that  Dillon  faltered.  This  was  not  the  pliant 
girl  whose  heart  had  been  so  easily  won  to  pity 
his  years  of  pain  and  misadventure,  and  whose 
noblest  intuitions  of  responsibility  and  protec- 
tion had  been  roused  by  his  dependence.  Grief, 
he  could  see,  had  made  her  a  diviner  of  many 
things.  She  was  no  longer  wondering  and  gen- 
tle, and  simple  as  truth  and  innocence  are 
simple.  It  seemed  to  him  that  her  heart,  upon 
the  softness  and  tenderness  of  which  he  had  so 
confidently  reckoned,  was  as  a  fountain  sealed, 
a  spring  shut  up.  And  overwhelmed  with  a 
new  and  complete  sense  of  hopelessness,  he 
cried  out,  bitterly : 

**  Lucy  !  Is  this  you,  so  cold  and  hard  as 
this  ?  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me — not 
one  word  ?" 


XVI 

As  his  voice  rang  out  in  the  stillness  of  the 
upland  meadows  Lucy  caught  her  breath  and 
seemed  to  tremble  a  little.  She  did  not  speak, 
however,  and  Dillon,  in  a  broken  way,  ex- 
claimed, "  He  was  right — poor  old  man  !  My 
uncle  was  right.  He  felt  sure  that  you  would 
cast  me  off  if  you  were  told  everything.  But  I 
said  I  believed  you  were  too  gentle  and  kind 
to  strike  down  the  wretched  hand  that  appealed 
to  you  for  life.  Yet  it's  happened.  You've 
done  this,  Lucy — you,  whom  I  have  loved  better 
than  my  own  soul ;  and  you  have  done  it  at  the 
first  breath  of  accusal,  without  giving  me  any 
poor  chance  of  justification.  I'm  not  complain- 
ing, though  it's  hard  to  be  left  to  perish  at  the 
very  gate  of — of — ^heaven.  I  only  want  to  tell 
you,  Lucy,  that  I  didn't  deceive  you  through 
cowardice  or  meanness  exactly.  If  I  withheld 
the  particular  instance  which  I  suppose  they 
have  brought  before  you — whoever  they  are — 
it  was  because  I  felt  it  would  be  wrong  to 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  197 

make  yon  share  my  unending  punishment. 
That  was  what  kept  me  silent — nothing  but 
that.  God  knows,  I  believed  that,  since  you  had 
been  so  generous  in  forgiving  the  general  evil, 
you  would  not  be  merciless  to  a  specific  sin. 
For  I  didn't  deny,  did  I,  that  my  life  had  been 
all  wrong  ?  That  I  had  loved  to  wander  and 
had  not  refrained  my  feet  ?  Didn't  I  even  say 
that  I  had  come  to  feel  as  if  my  moral  nature 
must  be  defective,  somehow  ?  Wasn't  I  alto- 
gether hopeless  till  I  met  you,  Lucy,  and  was 
renewed — saved,  I  thought  ?  0  God,  the  mis- 
ery of  the  change  !  Now — "  He  paused,  and  as 
the  memory  of  some  words,  solemn  and  impres- 
sive in  their  Old  Testament  simplicity,  floated 
upon  him,  he  added,  '*  Now  thorns  have  come 
up  in  the  palace  that  I  builded;  nettles  and 
brambles  have  sprung  on  the  threshold  where 
in  dreams  I  saw  your  dear  foot  pass.  It  is  be- 
come a  habitation  for  dragons,  a  court  for 
owls."  He  was  shaken  with  tears.  "Say 
something!"  he  implored  her.  "Oh,  Lucy, 
say  something  to  me  !" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  faltered  Lucy, 
distressed  at  the  sight  of  his  emotion.  "When 
I  heard  what  you  had  done  I  felt  ashamed  and 
dishonored.  I — but  I  don't  want  to  talk  about 
it.  I  can't !  I  hoped  I  might  never  see  you 
again,  because  I  hoped  to  be  spared  this — the 


198  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

pain  of  telling  you  that  I  feel  as  if  it  would  be 
degrading,  debasing,  to  continue  to  love  a  man 
who  has  been  guilty  of  despicable  actions.  I 
hate  to  use  such  a  word,  but  I  want  to  be 
plain." 

Dillon  staggered  back,  saying,  "Plain  ! — that 
is  plain  enough,  certainly — '  despicable  !' "  A 
breath  of  anger  touched  him  like  a  flame,  and 
for  the  instant  he  felt  himself  the  victim  of 
some  cruel  defamation.  "So  you  despise  me  ? 
Your  love  was  only  a  flower  of  sjjring — to  fall 
in  the  first  wind ;  not  deep,  noble,  loyal,  as  I 
thought  it.  When  it  came  to  the  test  you 
thought  not  of  me,  but  of  yourself  —  not  of 
my  salvation,  but  of  your  own  detriment.  So 
long  as  you  were  safely  housed,  what  did  it 
matter  if  the  storm  whirled  me  away  ?" 

Lucy's  eyes  fell  and  her  brows  twitched. 
"You  will  have  to  think  me  selfish,  I  sup- 
pose," she  said,  "  But  I  feel  that  no  woman 
can  love  what  is  unworthy  of  love  without  de- 
spoiling her  own  nature.  When  respect  ends, 
esteem  must  end,  or  else  we  profane  what  is 
the  best  in  us."  Her  tone  was  clear,  and  she 
spoke  with  a  sort  of  painful  effort,  as  if  she 
were  aware  of  dealing  with  unaccustomed 
thoughts. 

Dillon  had  cast  himself  upon  the  coarse 
grass.     "  *  Love  is  not  love/  "  he  said,  with  a 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  199 

bitter  accent,  " '  which  alters  when  it  alteration 
finds.'" 

"  If  it  doesn't/'  she  rejoined — ''  if  it  doesn't 
change  Avhen  it  finds  a  moral  change  in  its  ob- 
ject, then  it  must  be  founded  in  the  very  dregs 
of  life." 

"  Ah,  a  moral  change  !  In  me  the  change 
was  for  the  better,  Lucy.  This  thing  they 
have  told  you  about,  it  belongs  to  the  long  ago. 
You're  judging  me  on  a  kind  of  ex  post  facto 
ground,  you  see.  Not  what  I  am  concerns  you, 
but  what  I  was.  Mayn't  a  man  leave  his  error, 
then  ?    Is  the  hand  of  the  Lord  shortened  ?" 

Lucy's  face  contracted.  "I  told  you  I 
couldn't  discuss  this,"  she  said,  taking  a  step 
forward  as  if  to  pass  him  and  end  the  matter. 
With  her  movement  Dillon's  hopes  failed  and 
his  confidence  gave  way;,  dropping  his  head 
upon  the  grass,  he  said,  in  a  stifled  fashion  : 
"Whatever  you  do,  Lucy,  I  know  is  right. 
Forgive  me  for — for  casting  this  shadow  into 
your  life,  dearest.  You  are  right  to  hold  aloof 
from  me.  I  am  a  poor  devil !  A  troubled  sea 
whose  waters  cast  up  mire  and  dirt  I  A  miser- 
able vessel  moulded  with  a  flaw  in  the  stuff  ! 
Good-bye !  Leave  me  to  my  fate.  And  don't 
remember  that  I  was  so  .  .  .  unmanly  ...  as 
to  cry  like  a  child  ...  at  the  last  sight  of  you. 
I  would  like  to  thank  you  ...  if  I  could  .  .  . 


200  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

for  all  you  have  been  to  me — a  refuge  from  the 
storm,  a  shadow  from  the  heat.  .  .  .  Good-bye 
.  .  .  good-bye  .  .  ." 

Lucy  stood  looking  back  at  him  as  he  lay 
there  upon  the  ground  in  these  extremes  of  an- 
guish. While  he  strove  to  make  a  stand  against 
her  judgments  she  had  felt  her  firmness  im- 
pregnable. Neither  his  defences  nor  his  ac- 
cusals had  affected  the  principle  which  actu- 
ated her.  But  now  that  he  had  entirely  given 
up  the  struggle,  had  surrendered  every  point 
and  lay  crushed,  uttpanoplied,  weaponless,  and 
wounded  at  her  feet,  an  unspeakable  pain  and 
pity  rushed  over  her. 

No  doubt  he  had  been  without  excuse ;  but 
he  had  trusted  and  loved  her;  and  through 
her  heart  a  sudden  throb,  almost  material  in 
its  significance,  beat  sharp  and  strong.  His 
silence  was  eloquent  of  a  helplessness  which 
drew  her  as  by  powerful  hands.  His  weakness 
was  a  plea.  His  tears  persuasive  rhetoric,  his 
sobs  convincing  logic. 

Had  he  not  made  sackcloth  his  garment, 
ashes  his  bed  ?  Having  wandered  from  the 
way,  had  he  not  found  it  again  ?  Was  he  not 
safe  thenceforth  from  all  adventuring  in  dark, 
outer  paths  ?  She  thought  of  his  assertion  of 
some  temperamental  flaw  in  himself.  If,  in- 
deed, through  an  inherent  weakness  he  was 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  201 

more  liable  than  others  to  mistake,  would  she  be 
blameless  in  leaving  him  to  this  slackness  of  will, 
which  made  him  feel  defenceless  without  her  ? 

Dillon's  errors  had  not,  in  her  first  obscure 
perception  of  them,  belittled  him  in  Lucy's 
mind ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  loomed  larger 
for  the  hints  of  cloud  and  tempest  which  en- 
veloped him.  Now  as  the  poverty  of  his  char- 
acter became  clear  to  her,  as  he  revealed  him- 
self to  her  in  an  aspect  no  longer  aggrandized 
by  an  atmosphere  of  deeds  which,  however 
dubious,  had  yet  a  certain  suggestion  of  manly 
force  and  dash  and  enterprise,  she  asked  her- 
self if  womanhood  might  not  find  in  upholding 
him  a  holier  office  than  lay  in  any  merely  safe 
and  happy  wifehood. 

To  save  ;  to  redeem  ;  the  example  which  God 
himself,  filled  with  pity  for  our  lost  condition, 
had  set  before  the  world,  draining  to  this  end 
the  sacrificial  cup,  walking  with  the  poor  and 
sinful  and  outcast,  dying  on  the  tree.  Lucy's 
heart  rose  in  an  almost  intolerable  wave  of 
feeling.  Pity  and  love  and  religious  emotion 
mingled  in  her,  and  with  them  was  a  little 
flavor  of  personal  power,  a  faint,  uplifting,  en- 
trancing breath  of  something  which  belongs  to 
the  spirit  of  sacrifice. 

A  strong  exaltation  seized  her.  There  seemed 
an  unearthly  glory  in  the  sunset  on  the  cliffs. 


203  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

White,  luminous  faces  slione  iu  the  clouds. 
Asphodels  unfolded  their  dewless  buds  along 
the  shadow-flecked  upland,  and  the  rushing 
wings  of  a  swift,  victorious  host  sounded  wild 
and  high  in  the  freshening  wind  of  evening. 
While  in  the  east,  where  the  afterglow  reflected 
its  length  of  living  light,  walls  of  jasper  seemed 
to  mass  themselves  about  a  city  having  no  need 
of  the  sun,  neither  of  the  moon,  to  shine  upon 
it  by  day  or  night.  Then  in  a  breath  the  vision- 
ary moment  lapsed,  and  there  were  in  sight 
only  the  brushy  uplands,  the  marshy  pool,  the 
grazing  cattle,  and,  outstretched  on  the  rough 
sward,  Dillon^s  prone,  despairing  figure. 

Lucy  drew  herself  step  by  step  across  the 
little  space  between  them,  and  as  she  spoke  he 
uncovered  his  face  and  looked  up,  showing  a 
seamed,  flushed  forehead,  and  reddened,  swol- 
len eyes.  ''  I  won't  go  away,"  she  said ;  "  I 
ought  not  to  have  thought  of  going.  I  see 
that — that  I  Avas  wrong." 

At  this  Dillon  cried  out,  "  Lucy  !  you  are  in 
earnest  ?  You  mean  this — you —  "  He  mar- 
velled at  the  fervid  brightness  of  her  eyes. 
"  You  mean  that  you  are  not  going  to  leave 
me  to  perish  ?    That  you  are  going  to  stay — " 

"Always  !  always  !"  she  interrupted,  iu  a 
voice  that  sounded  faint  and  tired. 


XVII 

One  day,  not  long  after,  Dunbar,  happening 
to  meet  Dr.  Taliaferro  in  a  straggling  byway 
of  the  town,  stopped,  and,  after  a  word  or  two 
upon  general  topics,  said,  abruptly,  ''Well,  I 
looked  up  that  matter  you  mentioned  last  week. 
It's  so.  Jonas  gave  me  the  details.  I  demanded 
'em.  He  hated  to  do  it.  Tve  set  the  Major 
straight  concerning  our  young  friend.  He 
was  cut  up — greatly  cut  up — the  Major  was. 
Said  that  Dillon  had  come  and  gone  like  a 
member  of  the  family,  and,  indeed,  had  well- 
grounded  hopes  of  becoming  one.  Yes,  Fm 
sorry  to  say  things  had  got  as  far  as  that.  Dil- 
lon's probably  got  a  very  definite  back-set  by 
this  time.  Major  Morrow's  indignation  is 
quiet  but  effective.  What  bothers  me  is  to 
understand  Dillon's  composure  in  these  trying 
circumstances.  He's  at  his  desk  daily,  quiet 
and  smiling  as  ever.  He  must  have  a  very 
superior  kind  of  nerve ;  or,  perhaps,  this  sharj) 
deal  he's  made  in  walnut  wood  sustains  him — 


204  BOUND  m  SHALLOWS 

the  calm  trinmph  of  a  modest  pride,  you  know. 
Eather  keen  of  him,  wasn't  it,  to  get  his  fingers 
on  that  tract  ?  Hadn't  you  heard  ?  Yes,  Con- 
ner's sister  has  considerately  withdrawn  to  a 
better  world,  I  believe.  It  must  be  all  right 
and  a  square  deal,  or  Mrs.  McBeath  would 
never  have  set  her  mark  to  a  paper.  She's 
honest  as  the  day  and  sharp  as  a  tack,  except 
for  her  fits  of  melancholy.  McBeath's  superin- 
tending the  felling,  I  understand.  Dillon  sent 
out  a  force  of  men  and  ox-teams  yesterday. 
Of  course  we'll  get  the  logs — mighty  glad  to 
get  them ;  but  I  can't  just  make  out  why 
McBeath  didn't  deal  with  us  directly.  Dillon 
must  have  charmed  away  what  little  sense  the 
poor  fellow  originally  had." 

"McBeath  has  bought  the  lot  next  to  Mr. 
McVeigh's,"  said  Taliaferro ;  "  the  restrictions 
on  the  timber  have  been  removed  very  oppor- 
tunely for  him." 

"A  fool's  luck,"  remarked  Dunbar,  as  they 
parted. 

Taliaferro  went  on  his  way,  knitting  his 
brows  over  Dunbar's  remarks.  It  seemed  to 
him,  as  it  had  seemed  to  Dunbar,  a  peculiar 
thing  that  Dillon  should  appear  quite  unmoved 
at  the  disastrous  turn  of  his  affairs.  The  doc- 
tor studied  upon  the  matter,  and  came  finally 
to  the  conclusion  that  this  serenity  was  alto- 


BOTTND  IN   SHALLOWS  205 

gether  factitious,  a  mere  mask  into  which  Dil- 
lon's pride  forced  him. 

Not  long  afterwards  the  time  of  the  connty 
fair  came  round,  and,  on  the  day  of  the  open- 
ing. Streamlet,  with  a  commendable  persuasion 
of  the  duty  of  upholding  state  institutions,  for- 
sook all  its  usual  business  in  order  to  attend 
the  yearly  festival.  The  fair  was  held  at  Som- 
erset, and  the  morning  train  entirely  failed  to 
accommodate  the  throngs  which,  from  an  early 
hour,  had  filled  the  station  platforms  not  only 
of  Streamlet,  but  of  numbers  of  little  hamlets 
below.  The  coaches  were  filled  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity of  the  hand-rails ;  men  surged  over  the 
steps  with  a  recklessness  perhaps  born  of  long 
familiarity  with  wet  boom-sticks,  and  as  they 
clung  they  tossed  consolatory  jests  at  those 
who  had  been  unable  to  secure  even  this  pre- 
carious privilege. 

Taliaferro  had  secured  a  foothold  among  the 
more  fortunate,  but  as  the  train  took  the  swag- 
ging  curve  he  asked  himself  why  he  had  felt 
even  a  momentary  satisfaction  in  attaining  this 
advantage.  Certainly  he  felt  nothing  of  the 
holiday  spirit  which  enlivened  his  neighbors, 
and  an  intelligent  curiosity  was  hardly  possi- 
ble to  one  who  had  assisted  at  so  many  exhibits 
of  vegetables  and  patchwork  and  cattle.  The 
young  man,  without  settling  upon  any  respon- 


206  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

sible  motive  for  liis  presence  in  the  cheerful 
multitude,  alighted  with  it,  and  elbowed  his 
way  to  the  'buses  and  wagons  drawn  up  behind 
the  long  depot. 

An  air  of  bustling  activity  hung  upon  the 
large  town.  Clouds  of  dust  from  the  numer- 
ous vehicles  directed  to  the  outlying  fair- 
grounds cast  the  climbing,  stony  road  in  a 
haze  of  yellow,  which  blurred  the  clay -banks 
on  either  side,  and  gave  a  dim,  illusory  effect 
to  those  who  were  afoot  in  the  lower  walk. 
Off  in  the  distance  knobs  and  knolls,  redden- 
ing with  fall,  showed  sometimes  a  relatively 
solid  group  of  houses,  but  oftener  merely  the 
trim  outlines  of  an  isolated  dwelling  or  so, 
which  seemed  to  regard  with  a  suspicious  and 
watchful  air  the  encroachments  of  progress  on 
its  exclusive  position.  The  town  lay  in  a  hap- 
hazard sort  of  fashion  among  these  jagged  lit- 
tle hills.  Its  site  was  one  which  seemed  to 
offer  considerable  resistance  to  human  effort, 
but  a  spirit  of  determined  enterprise  had  ap- 
parently arisen  in  proportion  to  the  necessity 
for  it,  with  the  result  of  giving  the  place  a  dis- 
tinctively Western  air.  The  traditional  lan- 
guor of  the  South,  except  so  far  as  some  sug- 
gestion of  it  lay  in  a  log  -  cabin  or  two,  quiet- 
ly going  to  pieces  here  and  there  among  the 
modern  structures,  was  only  inferential.     The 


BOUND  IN  BHA.LLOWS  207 

thronged  public  square  and  ominous-looking 
iron  arches  of  the  new  court-house,  hurrying 
carryalls,  and  rows  of  shops  with  wares  spread 
here  and  there  outside  the  doors — these,  with 
the  nomadic  intimations  of  a  photographer's 
tent  lifting  its  white  peak  hard  by  the  door  of 
one  of  the  hotels,  brought  up  some  city  in  the 
shadow  of  the  Eockies,  sprung  to  sudden  and 
vigorous  life  from  the  nucleus  of  a  mining 
camp. 

The  number  of  negroes  in  the  busy  streets 
was  not  without  consequence  in  recalling  the 
mind  to  Somerset's  actual  situation.  Many  of 
the  youth  of  this  cheerful  race  held  positions 
of  advantage  on  the  top  rails  of  the  meadow 
fences  overlooking  the  fair-grounds  ;  from  the 
grandstand  they  had  the  look  of  a  flock  of 
crows  chattering  and  fluttering  upon  the  verge 
of  a  newly  harvested  field. 

All  the  hamlets  round  about  had  given 
liberally  to  the  throng  within  the  enclosure. 
A  mingling  of  farmers,  lumber-men,  and  vil- 
lagers everywhere  blocked  the  way,  segregated 
usually  from  the  townfolk  themselves,  and  dis- 
tinguishable, generally,  by  soft  hats,  plum-col- 
ored coats,  and  striped  trousers.  A  rainbow 
effect  of  coloring  pervaded  the  attire  of  the 
younger  women  from  the  hilly  regions  outly- 
ing.    Those  who  were  in  years  wore  black  of 


208  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

many  tones  and  textures.  When  the  stuff  was 
wool  it  seemed  always  to  adapt  its  folds  in 
square  creases,  revealing  the  shape  and  size  of 
the  chest  in  which  from  year  to  year  it  had 
been  frugally  laid  by. 

Children  were  everywhere  under  foot. 
Crowds  of  half-grown  boys  straggled  along  the 
tiers  of  the  grandstand,  scattering  pop -corn 
and  tracking  the  overflow  of  the  water  barrels 
after  them  in  distinct,  five-toed  footprints. 
A  continual  outpour  of  music  came  from  the 
brass  -  band  beside  the  race  -  track,  an  oblate 
half-mile  expanse,  smooth  and  dry,  and  spend- 
ing a  faint,  sulphurous  breath  in  the  breeze. 
Here  a  blanketed,  booted  horse  was  exercis- 
ing, and  unwilling  Durham  cattle,  deterred  by 
the  music,  were  being  dragged  about  for  the 
judges'  inspection.  One  splendid  bull,  of  a 
mahogany  richness  of  hue,  curled  and  creased 
of  neck  as  the  Assyrian  sculptures  of  his  race, 
butted  an  indignant  blue  -  ribboned  horn  at 
the  boy  in  charge  of  him,  thereby  occasion- 
ing alarmed  little  shrieks  from  the  women  who 
were  looking  on. 

A  man  with  a  conspicuous  lavender  badge 
rode  close  to  the  stand  guard,  issuing  impera- 
tive orders  to  some  one  inside.  Beyond  him, 
half-way  up  the  rough  steps,  an  old  negro 
limped  along  at  a  stifE,  consequential  gait,  ac- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  209 

counted  for  in  the  great  tufts  of  blue  and  red 
ribbon  fluttering  from  his  ragged  bosom. 

Taliaferro  and  Dunbar  had  met  at  the  gate. 
They  stood  now  at  the  edge  of  the  track,  in- 
specting the  multitude  in  the  stand  and  com- 
menting upon  the  largeness  of  the  attendance. 

''  Every  one  seems  to  be  here,"  said  Dunbar, 
in  the  gratified  tone  of  a  man  who  has  finan- 
cial as  well  as  social  and  patriotic  reasons  for 
his  complacency.  And  as  he  spoke  he  scowled, 
and  looked  long  and  fixedly  in  a  certain  direc- 
tion. "  Nat,"  he  said,  "  maybe  I  don't  see  as 
well  as  I  used  to — maybe  not.  But  it  seems  to 
me  that  Miss  Morrow  and  Dillon  are  sitting 
amicably  together  in  the  upper  range  of  seats. 
After  what  has  happened —  Bosh  !  I — this 
sunshine  has  made  my  eyes — I — eh  ?  How 
does  it  look  to  you,  Nat,  eh  ?" 

Taliaferro's  light,  clear  glance  had  narrowed, 
and  his  lips  set  themselves  rigidly.  It  was 
not  likely  that  he  should  mistake  any  one  else 
for  Lucy.  There  against  the  strip  of  sky  be- 
low the  roof  she  sat,  smiling  in  the  soft,  absent 
way  he  knew  so  well,  with  her  light  hair  loose 
about  her  serene  brows  and  a  shimmer  of  deli- 
cate green  in  the  broad  sleeves  which  flared 
airily  against  the  rough  back  of  the  high  seat. 
There  she  sat  smiling,  while  beside  her,  en- 
grossed and  unconscious  of  any  thought  of 


210  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

observation,  Dillon  leaned  forward,  talking 
steadily. 

There  could  be  little  doubt  that  a  complete 
sympathy  united  them.  No  shade  of  doubt  or 
displeasure  or  deliberation  touched  either  face. 
If  there  had  ever  been  any  question  between 
them  its  happy  settlement  was  vouched  for  in 
their  aspect,  as  well  as  in  the  circumstance 
that  Mrs.  Morrow  herself,  a  complete  embodi- 
ment of  parental  acquiescence,  sat  close  by, 
fanning  herself  and  bowing  sweetly  to  such  of 
her  acquaintance  as  fared  below. 

'*  It's  plain  enough  that  I  might  have  spared 
myself  the  unpleasantness — for  it  was  deuced 
unpleasant — of  telling  the  Major  what  I  did," 
remarked  Dunbar.  "  Evidently  Lucy  has  re- 
fused to  give  the  fellow  up.  He's  justified 
himself  ;  juggled  Avith  her  reason.  Fd  lay  dol- 
lars to  little  red  apples  that  I  could  tell  the 
exact  line  of  his  argument.  He's  pointed  out 
that  any  suggestion  of  the  possibility  of  show- 
ing a  miserable  hound  '  too  much  mercy '  is  ab- 
surd, outrageous,  illogical  cant,  and  that  to 
shrink  from  a  close  communion  with  villany 
is  a  proof  of  mean  selfishness.  He's  persuaded 
her  that  his  immortal  welfare  lay  in  her  hands. 
That's  what's  done  it.  "Women  are  terribly  sus- 
ceptible to  this  sort  of  compliment.  It  implies 
a   kind   of  deification    of   their  womanhood. 


\ 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  211 

Where  a  plain,  respectable  lover  can  only  ask 
to  be  loved,  a  scalawag  can  demand  regenera- 
tion as  well,  and  this  presupposes  his  recogni- 
tion of  higher  qualities  in  the  lady  than  a  de- 
cent chap  needs  to  go  hunting  out.  Well, 
sir  I" — he  stamped  his  stick  irately  into  the 
ground — "  she'll  marry  him,  I  reckon.  I  sup- 
pose it's  a  foregone  conclusion.  And  after 
the  ecstasy  of  the  novice  will  come  the  stone 
cell,  the  bed  of  cinders.  She  can't  do  any- 
thing with  Dillon  any  more  than  she  can  build 
stairs  of  sand.  It  isn't  in  the  stufE.  He  isn't 
half  so  capable  of  betterment  as  if  his  offences 
had  been  downright  and  vigorous  instead  of 
furtive  and  forceless." 

"But—" 

"  Oh,  don't  stick  in  any  *  huts'!  When  mercy 
instead  of  simple  justice  was  meted  out  to  Dil- 
lon in  the  Jonas  matter,  society  suffered  a  wrong 
whose  consequences  are  practically  incalcula- 
ble. There  wasn't  an  extenuating  detail  in  the 
transaction." 

"His  uncle  would  have  had  to  suffer,  too. 
It  is  hard  to  see  justice  in  a  blow  which  is  go- 
ing to  sweep  down  the  innocent  as  well  as  the 
guilty." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Dunbar,  speaking  loudly, 
to  make  himself  heard  above  the  bass  drum, 
"go  on  making  things  pleasant  for  the  law- 


213  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

breaker,  then  !  As  I  say,  it's  cant  not  to  side 
with  him.  Only  remember  this  quarter  aphor- 
ism :  *  When  you  make  de  jail  too  nice  you 
better  strenken  de  hog-pen  !' "  As  the  music 
slackened  a  little  he  continued  :  "  As  to  the 
Major — and  yet  1  think  I  can  see  how  he  too 
has  been  worked.  He's  a  man  for  heroics,  for 
magnificent  charges.  There  wasn't  a  braver 
man  in  the  Confederacy.  I  recall  a  splendid 
onslaught  of  his,  when  the  dastardly  Yanks — 
eh  ?  Oh,  I  forgot  your  folks  fought  on  that 
side,  Nat !  No  offence.  A  good  fighter  1  love, 
whatever  his  uniform.  As  I  say,  the  Major's 
dash  was  great — but  battles  aren't  won  that 
way.  '  It's  dogged  as  does  it  I' — steady,  calm 
persistence.  In  this  matter  he's  probably  raged 
round  for  a  day  and  then  quit.  Lucy's  tears, 
the  tears  and  persuasions  of  the  others — well, 
well.  I  see  him  yonder  now.  Coming  this  way, 
isn't  he  ?    I'm  sorry  for  the  Major." 

Major  Morrow  had  indeed  an  air  of  gloom. 
His  military  erectness  seemed  slightly  to  ac- 
commodate itself  to  some  spiritual  depression, 
and  as  he  advanced  he  stroked  his  gray  mus- 
tache in  a  troubled  sort  of  way. 

Some  one  drew  Taliaferro  aside,  and  the  Ma- 
jor, finding  himself  alone  with  Dunbar,  said,  al- 
most at  once  :  "1  hoped  to  see  you  to-day.  I 
felt  as  if  I  should  like  to  explain — "   He  paused. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  213 

and  let  the  matter  of  the  explanation  go.  *'My 
daughter  you  will  probably  see  here  in  Mr. 
Dillon's  company.  You  may  wonder  at  this.  I 
— I  can  easily  understand  your  surprise.  Lucy 
does  not  feel  justified — she  thinks  it  would  be 
very  reprehensible — in  short,  her  ideas  on  the 
subject  are  such  as — as — " 

"I  see,"  said  Dunbar,  finding  the  other  piti- 
fully embarrassed  in  his  phrases. 

"  I  know  how  ill-advised  opposition  in  such 
affairs  is,"  went  on  the  Major,  **so  I  tempo- 
rized. I  yielded,  however,  only  a  provisional 
consent  to  the — the  continuance  of  this  matter 
— only  a  provisional  one.  It  is  my  hope  that 
Lucy  will  be  led  to  see  how — er — mistaken  her 
position  is.  Mr.  Dillon — I  admit  that  he  has 
persuaded  me  of  his  penitence  and — and  all 
that.  No  doubt  he  is  changed.  But  reform 
always  suggests  a  weak  moral  texture :  rents, 
holes,  patches — a  poor  stuff.  I  may  be  too 
hard.  I  see  my  wife  in  the  upper  tier,  Mr. 
Dunbar.     I  will  wish  you  good-day." 

A  girl  in  red  passed  by  just  now — a  lithe  scar- 
let figure,  with  poppies  above  the  dark  brows 
and  defiant  eyes.  With  Alexa  were  Beauregard 
McBeath  and  a  straight,  stiff  old  woman  whose 
white  hair  had  a  framing  of  rusty  crape,  and 
whose  compressed  lips  and  set  gaze  gave  her  a 
stem,  judicial  expression. 


214  BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS 

''Alexa  looks  a  little  discontented,"  said  Mrs. 
Morrow  to  Dillon.  "  Old  Mrs.  McBeath — she 
really  isn't  so  old  as  one  would  think — is  rath- 
er a  trying  person  to  get  on  with,  I  fear." 

"  Beauregard  himself  seems  care-worn  and 
sad,"  said  Lucy,  looking  toAvards  the  passing 
group. 

"I  hadn't  noticed  it,"  Dillon  remarked,  winc- 
ing a  little.  He  also  regarded  Alexa's  passage. 
It  was  hard  to  believe  that  this  tall  girl,  moving 
in  the  throng  as  unconcernedly  as  a  princess, 
could  be  the  tearful,  trembling  creature  who  had 
once  clung  to  him  in  a  stammering  confidence 
of  self-reproach  and  love.  Dillon  lost  himself 
in  a  momentary  effort  to  recall  if  he  had  felt 
pleased  or  pained  in  the  hour  when  Alexa  bab- 
bled out  her  simple  heart. 

He  glanced  from  her  to  McBeath,  and  bit  at 
his  mustache  and  drew  his  brows  a  little.  And 
as  he  did  so  he  saw  that  McBeath  had  evident- 
ly pointed  him  out  as  the  purchaser  of  the  wal- 
nut wood ;  for,  Avith  her  falcon  face  turned  and 
her  cavernous  eyes  lifted,  Mrs.  McBeath  stood 
staring  up  at  him  OA'er  the  intervening  heads. 


XVIII 

Leaf  by  leaf  the  year  passed.  The  transi- 
tory beauty  of  early  fall  lapsed,  and  in  the 
chill  pure  light  of  the  late  October  sun  every- 
thing about  Streamlet  had  a  pallid,  threadbare 
look.  Fields  of  stacked  fodder  seemed  as  if 
piled  with  lustreless  armaments.  The  slopes 
were  scattered  in  dead  leaves  and  barren  stalks. 
Under  the  beeches  hogs  nosed  for  mast,  and 
the  side-yard  of  the  hotel  was  a  waste  of  lean 
branches.  There  had  been  frost,  and  flocks  of 
robins,  satisfied  of  the  end  of  summer,  spun 
southward  across  the  pale  sky.  Sparrows  clam- 
ored shrilly  in  the  empty  trees,  and  birds  not 
common  to  the  knobs  settled  upon  such  hips 
and  haws  and  other  autumnal  fruitage  as  re- 
mained. The  rainy  season  was  well  on  by  the 
second  week  in  November,  and  though  no  real- 
ly heavy  "tide"  was  likely  to  occur  till  later, 
business  was  brisk  in  the  town,  and  all  the  usual 
winter  activities  were  in  full  play. 

Part  of  the  walnut  wood  was  already  felled. 


216  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

and  the  logs  lay  in  black,  regular  tiers  above 
the  bank  of  the  river.  By  the  time  of  the 
Christmas  rise  all  the  timber  would  be  ready  to 
be  put  afloat.  The  arrangements  were  com- 
plete. Dillon  had  no  occasion  to  give  much 
thought  to  the  matter,  and  his  duties  at  the 
mill  were  indeed  pressing  enough  to  demand 
his  entire  attention. 

During  the  month  he  had  not  been  uncon- 
scious of  a  marked  coldness  in  Dunbar's  manner 
towards  him.  Taliaferro,  too,  seemed  different; 
and  Dillon  had  little  difficulty  in  deciding  that 
to  one  or  both  of  these  men  he  owed  the  dis- 
closure of  his  offence.  Since  their  efforts  had, 
however,  resulted  only  in  attaching  Lucy  to 
him  the  more  deeply,  he  felt  that  he  had  not 
suffered  enough  to  be  vindictive  towards  any 
one. 

Some  thought  of  the  matter  was  running  in 
his  mind  one  morning  as  he  stood  talking  with 
the  sawyer  about  an  order  which  he  had  Just 
written  and  was  tacking  to  a  post  hard  by  the 
saws.  Piles  of  parti-colored  dust  lay  all  about, 
and  to  the  right  a  mountain  of  waste  ridged  its 
pyramid  of  culls  and  wane  and  ends  of  timber. 
A  smell  of  oil  and  wet  wood  and  a  deafening 
whir  of  machinery  were  everywhere  manifest, 
and  through  the  clangor  of  steam  and  steel  the 
sawyer's  voice  came  in  a  tone  of  negation. 


BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS  217 

"  That's  a  sorry  piece  of  wood  to  get  any 
bill-stuff  out  of,"  he  said,  indicating  the  poplar 
log  they  were  rolling  over  for  the  second  cut- 
ting. It  was  pale  yellow  near  the  bark,  then 
green  and  rippling  in  the  grain,  and  finally  of 
a  brown,  sodden  hue  at  the  heart,  evidencing 
decay. 

**  You  know  more  about  it  than  I,"  began 
Dillon,  stopping  as  he  saw  that  the  sawyer  did 
not  appear  to  be  listening,  but  stood  gazing 
over  the  lumber  piles  at  a  man  who  was  urging 
a  jaded  horse  up  the  hill  road. 

"I  never  saw  Beau  McBeath  push  his  horse 
like  that  before,"  commented  the  sawyer.  ''  Er 
— no,  'tain't  McBeath.  It's  Bud  Petty,  one  of 
the  felling  gang  over  yender.  He's  on  Mac's 
horse  all  right.  I  wonder  if  anything's  hap- 
pened ?  See  him  lightin'  at  the  doctor's  office  ? 
Mebby  the  old  lady's  sick.  Well,  I'll  put  this 
log  into  planks,  and  get  up  some  fresh  wood 
for  the  bill.  Let  'er  go,  Jim."  And  as  the  log 
rolled  by  him  the  great  circular  saw  at  his 
elbow  daintily  sliced  off  the  wet  rind. 

Dillon  turned  back  to  the  mill  office,  and 
with  the  movement  he  saw  that  the  ferryman 
was  coming  up  from  the  float,  and  that  the 
ferryman's  weather-beaten  face  wore  an  ex- 
pression not  common  to  it. 

*'Jy'all  see  Bud  Petty  lopin'  up  the  hill?" 


218  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

he  inquired,  slirilly,  pitching  his  voice  in  a  key 
to  carry  the  words  above  the  scream  of  the 
saws  and  the  splash  of  the  log  car.  "Heli? 
Seen  him,  did  ye  ?  Well,  sirs,  I  sensed  they  was 
somethin'  amiss  when  I  see  him  on  the  fur 
bank  a-whoopin'  and  hollerin'  and  raisin'  a  ruc- 
tion for  me  to  hurry  over  and  git  him.  Yes, 
sir,  I — heh  ?  Why,  no ;  "tain't  the  old  lady.  It's 
Beau  hisself.  They  hain't  no  notion  he'll  live. 
He  was  standin'  like  this,  as  I  got  it,  and  the 
tree  they  were  notchin'  stood  like  where  the 
head  of  the  chute  is.  The  men  they  shouted  at 
him  for  to  step  out  of  the  way,  and  he  looked 
round  and  see  the  tree  swayin'  to  drop,  and  he 
'peared  to  git  rattled,  and  went  first  one  way 
'n'  another,  and  the  bole  split  off  sudden  and 
strek  him  down.  Pinned  him  across  the  cliist. 
Bud  says.  Old  lady  McBeath  she's  goin'  on 
like  a  wild  person  a-fiingin'  her  arms  up  and 
gabblin'  about  them  trees  bein'  stained  with 
blood,  and  sech  talk.  Well,  there's  Doc  Talia- 
ferro mountin'.  I'll  git  back  so's  not  to  hold 
him." 

Dillon  mechanically  watched  his  departure. 
Then  he  sat  down  on  a  log  near  the  bank  and 
tried  to  overcome  the  faint  sense  of  sickness 
which  had  stolen  over  him.  He  hardly  knew 
if  what  he  felt  was  poignant  regret  at  his  own 
part  in  the  mischance  which  had  befallen  Mc- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  219 

Beath,  or  only  a  simple,  heartfelt  sorrow  that 
the  young  fellow  should  thus  be  cut  down  on  the 
threshold  of  life,  with  happiness  in  his  hand. 

Then,  too,  he  remembered  that  once  since 
the  felling  began  McBeath,  troubled  with  some 
compunctions,  had  come  to  him,  and  in  a  dull, 
stammering  fashion  asked  if  it  was  not  pos- 
sible to  drop  the  whole  matter  of  the  sale,  and 
let  things  be  as  they  had  been. 

"And  how  about  the  money  you  have  paid 
for  the  lot  next  the  preacher's  ? — how  about 
your  new  house  ?"  Dillon  had  asked. 

At  which  Mc'Beath  had  breathed  heavily,  and 
sought  the  ground  with  miserable  eyes.  "I 
reckon  I'm  pretty  near  a  fool,"  he  remarked. 

"  Oh  no,  you're  not,"  Dillon  assured  him. 
"  You're  in  the  full  possessioh  of  your  senses. 
And  I  should  like  you  to  understand  that  this 
is  also  true  of  me." 

Dillon,  recalling  this  episode,  wondered  if, 
in  pure  fact,  he  was  any  more  culpable  than 
McBeath.  True,  there  had  been  a  certain  con- 
nivance. He  had  no  longer  admitted  that  the 
first  suggestion  of  the  affair  had  come  from  his 
own  lips.  McBeath  was  at  least  equally  in 
fault ;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  this,  though 
Dillon  found  it  oddly  necessary  to  keep  on  re- 
peating to  himself  the  assurance  of  McBeath's 
guilt. 


220  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

The  sun  came  out  bright  and  warm  as  he 
sat  there  watching  the  yellow  water  unwind 
its  sltigglish  coils,  but  the  heat  of  it  did  not 
soothe  or  cheer  him,  and  he  felt  neither  sur- 
prise nor  an  added  pain  when  somewhat  later 
he  saw  Taliaferro  coming  back  in  the  road 
across  the  river,  and  heard  him,  in  reply  to  the 
ferryman's  question,  "  How's  the  case,  doc  ?" 
call  back  simply,  "All  over.''' 

But  Taliaferro,  in  riding  past  the  mill,  had 
a  sense  of  pity  and  self-reproach  and  some 
amazement  as  he  saw  Dillon  sitting  there  by 
himself,  with  tears  in  his  unseeing  eyes. 

"He  must  have  something  good  in  him," 
thought  Taliaferro;  "actually  fond  of  poor 
Beau.  Perhaps  Lucy  has  more  reason  for  her 
love  and  loyalty  than  is  apparent." 

In  an  hour  the  tidings  were  spread  every- 
where. McBeath  had  been,  in  the  village 
phrase,  "well  liked,"  and  the  news  of  his 
death  was  discussed  with  general  regret. 

"  So  young  and  good-hearted  as  he  v/as  !" 
said  Mrs.  Morrow.  "  He  used  to  be  in  my 
Sunday-school  class,  and  though  he  never  knew 
the  lesson  he  always  sat  very  still  and  listened 
to  everything  with  his  eyes  and  mouth  wide 
open.  I  must  go  at  once  and  see  Alexa.  There 
may  be  something  I  can  say  to  comfort  the 
child." 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  221 

Alexa,  npon  hearing  the  news,  had  thrown 
herself  face  downward  on  the  hair-cloth  sofa 
in  the  family-room  ;  and  though  her  mother 
had  striven  with  her  and  wept  over  her  all 
day,  Alexa  had  never  spoken. 

When  Mrs.  Morrow  came  and  bent  over  her 
and  laid  a  warm,  soft  hand  on  her  black  head, 
saying,  "  Dear  child  !  dear  Alexa !  try  to 
bear  it  bravely  for  the  sake  of  those  who  love 
yon,"  Alexa,  for  the  first  time,  turned  a  little 
her  sodden  eyes  and  purplish  cheeks. 

*'  Our  hearts  are  all  torn  for  you  !"  pursued 
Mrs.  Morrow,  beginning  to  weep.  He  was  so 
good,  so  kind — " 

"A  Mason,  highly  respected  by  all,"  burst  in 
Mrs.  Bohun,  sobbing.    *'  Oh,  law  me  !" 

"And  so  fond  of  you,  Alexa  !  You  will  al- 
ways have  his  love,  dear,  to  remember.  And 
you  must  reflect  that,  though  we  have  1-lost 
him,  he  has  gone — where  there — are  no — no 
more  tears  or  sorrows.  There,  Alexa  ;  there  !" 
for  Alexa  had  at  last  broken  into  passionate 
sobs. 

"  He's  singin'  sams  of  p-p-praise,"  wailed  Mrs. 
Bohun.     "  Don't  y'  cry  so,  honey ;  don't  you  I" 

"He's  happier  than  ever  I  could  of  made 
him,"  breathed  Alexa.  "But,  oh,  if  I'd  only 
been  different  to  what  I  was  !  If  I'd  treated 
him  kinder  I" 


222  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

The  day  of  the  burial  dawned  clear,  with  a 
mildness  in  the  air  like  that  of  snmmer,  and  a 
warm,  generous  blue  and  expanding  in  the 
November  sky.  A  sunny  yellow  shone  from 
the  drifts  of  fallen  leaf  along  the  paths ;  bushes 
and  way-side  hedges  held  a  sepia  glow,  and 
matted  sward  and  fields  of  stubble  stretched  a 
soft  russet  expanse  below  the  hills. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  people 
began  to  climb  the  rutted  hill  road,  passing 
out  behind  the  hotel  to  compose  themselves  in 
little  groups  v/hile  they  rested  and  talked  and 
awaited  the  coming  of  the  poor  funeral  train. 
Some  of  them  went  on  towards  the  graveyard, 
where,  set  in  dry  weeds  and  scanty  firs,  the 
path,  a  mere  flat  rift  in  the  red  clay,  wandered 
up  past  a  scattering  of  mounds  to  the  crest 
of  the  knoll.  Most  of  the  people,  however, 
villagers  and  hill  folk,  were  still  lingering  in 
the  lower  road  when  at  the  turn  of  the  station 
the  small  body  of  McBeath^s  fellow-lodgemen 
appeared,  with  their  short  linen  aprons  and 
various  ensigns  of  office  shining  in  the  pleasant 
sun. 

Behind  them  a  heavy  wagon  jolted  slowly 
over  the  railway  tracks.  Eor  security  a  rope 
spanned  the  projecting  end  of  the  long  pine 
case  it  carried,  and  following  it  were  other 
farm  wagons  and  a  few  country  buggies. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  833 

In  the  seat  of  a  small  cart  Mrs.  McBeath  sat 
by  the  side  of  the  driver,  a  youth  in  faded 
jeans.  She  had  lost  her  look  of  vigor  and  stiff- 
ness, and  seemed  to  be  huddled  together  in  a 
lax  black  heap,  which  swayed  with  the  motion 
of  the  wheels.  As  the  cart  advanced  she  stared 
a  little  wildly  from  the  rusty  crape  about  her 
withered  face,  muttering  to  herself,  "0  Lord, 
have  mercy  on  me  this  day !  Lord,  have 
mercy  \" 

The  throng  of  wagons  and  people  turned  in 
from  the  road  at  the  gate  afield,  and,  crossing 
the  expanse  of  shining  stubble,  labored  up  the 
briery  rise.  The  men  tramped  heavily  through 
the  sunburnt  grasses,  planting  their  heels  in 
the  slippery  soil ;  the  women  made  way  less 
surely,  detained  by  the  brambles  which  caught 
at  their  skirts  in  passing. 

Only  a  few  saplings  cast  slight  shadows  on 
the  crest.  These  and  a  stunted  fir  or  so  alone 
assuaged  the  barrenness  of  the  place,  with  its 
tumbling  mounds,  its  half-dozen  black-topped 
picket  -  fences,  and  occasional  head -pieces  of 
rudely  lettered  pine.  All  about  it  the  brown 
land  rolled  its  rim  of  leafiess  hills.  Cows,  red 
and  white,  browsed  in  the  valley,  and  cheery 
smoke  from  a  little  shed  not  far  away  spent  a 
delicate  grayness  on  the  sky's  flowery  blue. 

Towards  the  ridge  of  the  knoll  a  heap  of 


324  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

freshly  turned  earth  lay  bright  and  moist.  Be- 
side it  a  man  in  a  hickory  shirt  rested  on  his 
spade  while  he  issued  directions  to  some  unseen 
worker  in  the  hollow  at  his  feet.  Some  little 
delay  arose,  and  in  the  interval  people  waited 
silently  or  spoke  in  whispering  tones.  The 
lodgemen  stood  apart,  grave  and  motionless. 
One  of  them  upheld  a  tall  staff.  The  breast 
of  another  glittered  with  a  silver  cross,  while 
upon  the  shoulders  of  a  man  near  by  the  vivid 
blueness  of  a  satin  stole  shone  brightly. 

A  little  aloof  from  the  press  a  village  girl 
looked  blushingly  into  the  face  of  a  young  man 
who,  in  talking  with  her,  set  his  foot  in  the  sod  of 
a  baby's  grave.  A  woman  beyond  them  hushed 
a  child  against  her  cheek.  And  over  the  low 
murmurs  of  the  crowd  now  and  then  a  long 
wail  sounded :  "  My  boy  !  my  sweet  boy  !  I  got 
to  give  him  up  !  Lord  have  mercy  !  Lord  bless 
his  sweet  soul  this  day  \" 

Lucy,  standing  with  her  mother  and  the 
Major  at  a  short  distance,  felt  her  heart  swell- 
ing with  pity ;  and  Dillon,  as  he  regarded  her 
saddening  face,  felt  his  consciousness  of  those 
mourning  cries  deepen  painfully. 

Just  now  the  throng  appeared  to  bo  drawing 
towards  the  open  grave.  The  lodgemen  sur- 
rounded it,  forming  a  hollow  line  as  the  bear- 
ers advanced.    Behind  the  long  pine  shape  Mrs. 


BOUND  IN  SHALIiOWS  225 

McBeath  staggered,  sustained  by  the  arms  of 
two  old  women,  whose  limp  black  skirts  clung 
close  about  their  lean  limbs  as  they  faced  the 
wind.  Mrs.  McBeath's  dingy  crape  seemed  to 
draw  all  the  shadows  of  the  scene  about  her 
hollow  face  and  staring  eyes.  She  looked  an 
embodiment  of  woe,  unchastened  and  desper- 
ate, as,  spent  with  years  and  troubles,  she  let 
herself  be  dragged  through  the  brambles  to  the 
side  of  the  open  grave. 

As  the  service  proceeded  her  outcries  grew 
fainter.  A  sort  of  childishness  stole  into  her 
lessening  voice.  ''  He  was  all  I  had,"  she  kept 
repeating.  *'  Lord  save  him !  He  never  went 
to  wrong  no  one.  Lord,  it  was  me — all  me  !  I'd 
ought  to  have  told  him.  But  it's  well  with 
him  now.  He  freed  hissclf  of  sin.  Lord,  oh, 
Lordy  !     I'll  never  see  him  no  more  !" 

Alexa,  clothed  in  black,  with  her  face  half 
veiled,  stood  at  the  coffin's  foot,  immovable  of 
feature  and  ashen  of  hue.  Her  vacant  eyes 
sought  some  immeasurable  distance,  and  as 
Dillon  observed  this  dark,  empty  gaze,  he  found 
himself  thinking  that  for  once  Alexa's  tragic 
beauty  had  reached  its  fullest  purport. 

They  began  to  lower  the  box,  but  Mrs.  Mc- 
Beath no  longer  made  any  lament.  She  stood 
silently  watching  the  lodgemen  cast  one  by  one 
their  sprigs  of  green  into  the  grave,  not  even 

15 


226  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

nttering  a  sound  as  the  clods  began  to  fall  hol- 
low and  heavy  on  the  coffin  lid. 

Presently  the  men  in  the  hickory  shirts  were 
flattening  the  sides  of  the  new  hillock  and 
deftly  rounding  the  head  and  foot.  The  crowd 
was  visibly  thinning.  People  spoke  freely 
again  as  they  passed  down  the  slope.  An  op- 
pression seemed  to  have  passed  from  the  earth 
with  the  closing  of  the  mound. 

Alexa's  father  had  helped  her  into  a  wagon 
and  was  untangling  the  reins  preparatory  to 
starting.  Mrs.  McBeath's  little  cart  awaited 
her,  but  she  still  lingered  by  the  grave,  stoop- 
ing once  to  smooth  out  with  her  toil-worn  hand 
some  roughness  in  the  fresh  surface. 

At  length  she  lifted  herself  and  made  a  step 
towards  the  cart.  As  she  did  so  she  stumbled, 
and  Dillon  sprang  to  her  aid.  At  the  sight  of 
him  Mrs.  McBeath  paused.  There  was  no  one 
near  except  the  Morrows ;  but  even  the  Mor- 
rows Mrs.  McBeath  seemed  unaware  of.  She 
saw  only  Dillon's  proffered  hand.  And  seeing 
it  she  lifted  her  own  and  made  a  gesture  as  if 
she  fiercely  thrust  back  his  assistance. 

''  Yon  come  to  see  him  laid  away,  did  you  ?" 
she  said.  ''  Your  work — all  your  work  !  He'a 
be  alive  to-day  if  you'd  never  crossed  his  path. 
You  needn't  to  say  anything.  You  know  your 
own  heart  and  what's  in  it !    Yes,  'n'  I  know. 


BOUND  IK  SHALLOWS  327 

too !  My  boy  lived  long  enongh  to  tell  me  how 
he'd  deceived  me  —  how  t'  Conner  heirs  was 
livin'  and  all,  and  how  you'd  a  took  the  timber 
notwithstandin'.  I  got  it  all  out  of  him  !  Even 
how  he  went  and  ast  you  to  call  the  bargain  ofE 
after  the  first  acre  was  felled,  and  how  't  you 
laughed  in  his  face.     Yes,  I  know  it  all." 

Dillon  glanced  towards  Lucy.  She  had 
shrunk  back  and  was  plucking  at  her  father's 
sleeve,  as  if  she  besought  him  either  to  take 
her  away  or  to  speak  in  Dillon's  behalf  to  the 
stern-faced  woman  confronting  him. 

The  Major  cleared  his  throat.  "Mrs.  Mc- 
Beath,"  he  expostulated,  *^this  is  a  very  se- 
rious charge.  I  beg  you  to — to — unless  you 
have  good  grounds — " 

"  Hain't  I  my  dyin'  boy's  words  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  McBeath.  "If  you  ask  proofs  fur  and 
beyond,  look  into  this  man's  face." 

Dillon  struggled  to  recover  himself.  "  I — 
if  you  will  listen —  "  He  began  to  falter,  per- 
fectly aware  that  any  hesitation  would  be  fatal- 
ly confirmatory  of  guilt,  yet  in  some  strange 
way  unable  to  speak  out  a  firm  denial. 

"  Did  ever  my  son  show  you  any  proof  of  the 
heirs' death?" 

"Proof?    No,  hut— " 

"  Did  he  so  much  as  tell  you  they  was  out  of 
the  way  ?" 


228  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

"  If  you  desire  to  criminate  your  son,"  began 
Dillon,  angi'ily.  Then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
dignity  wonld  be  a  better  resource  than  indig- 
nation, and  he  added,  coldly,  "  I  will  not  dis- 
cuss it.     Another  time  and  place — " 

Mrs.  McBeath  silenced  him  with  a  contemp- 
tuous word.  "  You  see  for  yourself.  Major," 
she  said. 

The  Major's  face  had  been  reddening  vio- 
lently as  he  listened  and  looked.  "  Come, 
Lucy,"  he  said,  "come.  There's  too  much 
truth  in  this,  evidently — too  much." 

Lucy's  face  wore  a  look  of  anguish.  She 
leaned  upon  his  arm,  whispering,  "  Yes,  yes ; 
let  us  go." 

"  Seein'  y'all  knew  my  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Beath, in  a  gentler  way,  "  I  want  y'all  to  know 
they  ain't  no  blemish  on  him,  not  for  all  the 
p'isinin'  and  pollutin'  of  this  man.  Beau  hed 
a  right  to  the  walnut.  I've  known  for  better  'n 
a  year  that  the  tract  was  ourn.  Jedge  Kinney 
rode  out  our  way  last  fall  and  told  me  how  he'd 
ben  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree  yender  at  Butte 
City,  and  that  Joe  Conner's  sister  died  the 
same  year  as  Joe,  down  in  Virginia,  where  they 
was  raised."  Mrs.  McBeath  shuddered,  as  if 
some  chilling  memory  had  arisen  in  her.  "  And 
I  ast  Jedge  Kinney  to  keep  the  news  from  Beau. 
' He's  young  and  lacks  jedgment,'  I  says.    ' He'd 


i 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  239 

never  rest  till  I'd  signed  the  tract  away,  and  I'd 
ruther  keep  it  for  him  till  he  gits  the  money 
sense  and  he's  a  good  wife — one  as  won't  marry 
him  for  what  he's  got/  says  I.  And  the  jedge  gi' 
me  his  word.  Afterwards,  when  Beau  came  and 
told  me  there  was  nothin'  to  prevent  our  sellin' 
the  wood,  I  says,  ^Hev  you  heerd  from  the 
jedge  ?'  And  Beau  nodded — he  never  give  me 
the  lie  outright !  And  I  thought  jedge  had 
forgot  his  promise,  bein'  old  and  stricken.  Oh, 
Major,  you  mind  how  simple-hearted  my  boy 
was  ?  Deceivin'  wasn't  never  his  disposition. 
And  when  he  told  me  everything,  lyin'  there 
all  crushed,  I  eased  his  mind  and  prayed  God 
to  forgive  him,  and  he  laid  his  head  agin  my 
bosom  like  a  little  child,  and  said  now  he  could 
go  in  peace.  And  he  did — he  went  smilin' !" 
She  had  her  eyes  on  the  mound  as  she  ap- 
proached the  cart.  "  Push  on,"  she  com- 
manded the  boy ;  and,  turning  to  Dillon,  who 
stood  a  little  away,  she  added,  "The  wood's 
yourn,  fair  and  square,  every  stick  and  every 
stain  of  it.  'Twon't  profit  ye  none.  Push  on, 
boy.     Night's  fallin'." 


XIX 

The  sun  was  charring  the  -west  in  a  ragged 
rim  of  brown  as  Major  Morrow  and  Lncy 
walked  homeward  from  the  bnrying-gronnd. 
Dillon  had  made  no  show  of  accompanying 
them,  but,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  eyes 
abased,  had  stood  silently  aside  while  they 
passed. 

''His  sense  of  dramatic  fitness  is  sim]3ly  ir- 
reproachable," thought  the  Major,  with  an 
unuttered  oath. 

Lucy  said  nothing  to  her  father  as  they  went 
along ;  but  when  they  entered  the  house  she 
flung  herself  suddenly  on  his  neck  and  broke 
out,  in  a  husky  whisper,  "  Oh,  send  me  away, 
papa  !  I  want  to  be  where  I  can't  see  him.  I 
want  to  forget  everything." 

"  You  believe,  then,  that  I  was  right  ?" 
asked  the  Major.     "You  understand — " 

*'  Oh,  I  understand  everything !"  she  cried. 
"  He — he  has  never  really  changed  at  all.  He 
is  what  he  was  and  will  remain.     It  was  only 


BOUND  IN  SIIAIiLOWS  231 

my  folly,  my  miserable  conceit,  that  made  me 
believe  I  could  make  another  man  of  him.  I 
thought  God  had  called  me  to  undertake  this 
high  and  holy  office  !  God!  I  don't  suppose 
He  knows  or  cares — " 

"  Lucy  !  Lucy  !  don't  let  this  harden  your 
heart !  Pity,  charity,  love — don't  let  this  bit- 
ter experience  seal  up  those  springs  of  life. 
You  haven't  been  foolish  or  egotistic  to  feel 
that  every  one  who  is  sad  or  sinning  has  a  claim 
upon  you  for  sympathy.  Only  don't  let  your- 
self be  whirled  away  in  any  delirium  of  sacri- 
fice again.  It's  a  mistake,  Lucy,  to  think 
God  has  put  evil  here  for  the  express  purpose 
of  occupying  our  time,  or  that  we  are  here 
for  the  express  purpose  of  stamping  it  out. 
We're  here  to  grow,  to  be  happy,  to  do  good 
without  martyring  ourselves  in  the  effort ; 
to  attend  to  our  own  affairs,  in  short,  and 
leave  His  business  to  Him.  That's  how  it 
seems  to  me,  Lucy.  I  don't  say  this  is  a  pro- 
found view  of  life,  but  it's  a  sane  view,  I 
think." 

Lucy  did  not  seem  to  be  following  very 
closely  her  father's  unusual  length  of  speech. 
She  was  clinging  to  him  still,  and  she  mur- 
mured, "What  is  to  become  of  him,  papa? 
What  is  to  become  of  him  now  ?" 

The  Major  felt  his  spleen  rising,  and  he  ex- 


233  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

claimed,  sharply  enough,  "Are  you  going  to 
worry  over  that  ?" 

Her  voice  was  very  humble  as  she  re- 
joined :  "  Papa,  I — it  is  only  that  I  was  won- 
dering if  it  can  be  true  that — that  there  are 
some  who  can't  be  helped  much,  or  direct- 
ed, or  made  better.  Is  it  true  ?  Can  it  be 
true  ?" 

The  Major  dragged  his  mustache  down. 
"  God  knows  !"  he  said.  "  Statisticians  would 
tell  you  that  such  people  certainly  exist.  I 
— perhaps  it's  not  a  very  fruitful  topic  of  dis- 
cussion. Your  idea,  Lucy,  that  a  change  of 
scene  would  help  you  to  forget  all  these  un- 
pleasant matters  is,  I  think,  very  reasonable. 
Shall  I  take  you  up  to  Woodford  County  ? 
Your  cousins — " 

"  No,  oh  no ;  I  don't  think  I  could  bear 
having  so  many  people  around  me  just  now.  I 
don't  want  gayety,  papa ;  I  couldn't  stand  it. 
I  want  to  be  quiet  and  let  alone.  I  will  go  and 
visit  Janet  a  little  while." 

"But  this  isn't  the  right  time  of  year  to 
visit  Janet,"  demurred  the  Major,  thinking, 
however,  that  some  wholesome  influence  might 
indeed  be  exerted  upon  Lucy  by  an  association 
with  the  friend  she  mentioned  —  the  good 
woman  who  had  cared  for  his  child  when  she 
was  left  motherless. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  383 

"K  yon  prefer  to  stay  a  short  while  with 
Janet  I  shall  not  oppose  you,"  he  added. 

Yet,  some  days  later,  when  he  and  Lncy 
alighted  from  the  train  at  a  little  station  some 
miles  below  Streamlet  and  found  Janet's  hus- 
band awaiting  them  with  a  vociferous  welcome 
and  a  large  farm  wagon,  the  Major,  surveying 
the  scene,  began  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  con- 
signing Lucy  to  so  lonely  an  environment. 
He  had  established  his  impressions  of  the 
place  upon  several  midsummer  excursions ;  but 
what  had  been  wild  and  beautiful  in  these 
visits  wore  now  a  bleak  and  dreary  air  which 
did  not  reassure  him. 

The  crests  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains 
rose  near  and  far  in  a  cold  mist  of  light  blue — 
no  longer  mere  knobs,  rolling  their  half-grown 
shapes  over  the  ground  in  a  sort  of  sportive 
cubhood,  but  tall,  majestic  piles,  wearing  an 
imperial  fleece  of  fir-flecked  white  upon  their 
shoulders. 

Nor  did  the  landscape  grow  more  enlivening 
as  the  farm  wagon  rumbled  on  its  way  in  the 
ever -rising  road.  Deep  valleys  and  distant 
peaks  diversified  both  sides  of  the  ridge  along 
which  the  horses  toiled.  Sometimes  a  sand- 
stone spring  dropped  icily  by  the  way ;  an  ox- 
team  or  so  passed ;  occasionally  a  little  house 
looked  shyly  from  the  road-side  ;  and  through 


234  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

interstices  of  the  adjacent  woodland  stripped 
tanbark  oaks  rose  sterile  and  bare,  and  num- 
berless pines  showed  their  dark  pyramids. 
Leaves  drifted  everywhere,  a  changing  weft 
of  brown  and  yellow  and  light  red  ;  a  perpet- 
ual sibilance  murmured  in  the  papery  wastes ; 
and  presently,  as  the  wind  altered,  a  long, 
mournful  resonance  echoed  through  the  stark 
branches — the  sound  of  the  falls  of  the  Cum- 
berland, eight  miles  away,  plunging  with  the 
affluence  of  winter  tides  down  the  crescent 
break  in  the  rock-bed. 

Then  a  small  cove  disclosed  itself  far  below 
the  ridge,  lying  safe  and  warm  in  the  bosom 
of  the  hills.  A  low  log-house  sat  in  the  hol- 
low beside  a  spring  and  a  wintry  garden  space. 
Smoke  curled  from  the  big  chimney,  and  in 
the  door  a  woman  stood  waving  her  apron  in 
greeting,  while  a  brown  setter  leaped  about 
her,  barking  in  an  anguish  of  joyous  antici- 
pation. 

*'  I'd  never  V  dared  come  home  if  anything 
hed  happened  to  delay  y'all,"  remarked  Janet's 
husband,  turning  a  mild,  red-whiskered  face 
upon  his  guests.  "She's  ben  like  something 
crazy  ever  since  we  got  word  y'all  was  coming. 
Janet  hain't  felt  right  on  account  of  Miss  Lucy 
not  spending  a  week  along  of  us  this  gone  July 
like  she  always  done  heretofore." 


BOUND  m  SHALLOWS  386 

Janet,  one  of  those  flat-figured,  plain,  beam- 
ing women  who  seem  always  young  through 
either  a  virginal  lack  of  curves  or  an  abound- 
ing joy  in  life,  caught  Lucy  to  her  blue-cotton 
bosom  in  an  ecstasy  of  welcome. 

"  But  what  y'all  ben  doing  to  her  that  she 
looks  so  white  ?"  queried  Janet  after  a  little, 
as  she  held  the  girl  off  for  critical  inspection. 
'*  Major,  she  cert'n'y  ain't  over  rosy  !  Too  much 
parties  and  dancing  and  visiting  round,  I  reck- 
on— though  her  ma  was  fair-complected  as  ever 
I  see.  But  you  trust  me.  Major.  I'll  not  give 
Lucy  back  tell  she's  got  more  color  to  her 
cheeks  than  she  hes  now." 

"Yes,  papa,"  smiled  Lucy,  glancing  round 
the  room,  in  which  a  great  log  fireplace  ex- 
panded a  ruddy  glow,  lighting  up  the  beamed 
ceiling  and  four -posted  bed  and  turkey -red 
hangings  and  an-ay  of  rifles  and  powder-horns, 
*'  I  am  going  to  stay  here  till  I  am  quite  my- 
self again." 

The  brown  setter  sniffed  at  her  hand,  with- 
holding recognition  for  a  moment,  and  finally 
bounding  upon  her  in  an  abandonment  of  sus- 
picion so  complete  and  fervid  as  to  occasion 
his  temporary  banishment. 

"That  houn'  ain't  right  fuU-witted  yet," 
signified  Janet,  putting  on  the  kettle,  "being 
unly   six  month    old    and    unwaywise.     His 


238  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

name's  Luther.  Josliaway  allows  that  he  car- 
ries his  tail  wrong.  He  says  a  setter  ain't  no 
'count  lest  his  tail  flags  out  stiff  as  a  whip.  A 
course  we  wouldn't  'a'  named  him  Luther  if 
we'd  suspicioned  he  wasn't  going  to  fill  the 
specifications." 

She  was  blustering  about  in  preparations 
for  supper.  Outside,  twilight  was  drawing  the 
mountain-tops  to  infinite  heights,  owls  hooted 
in  neighboring  forests,  and  through  the  dusk 
the  wild,  changing  rhythm  of  the  falls  spent 
an  utterance  of  lament.  The  little  windows 
framed  a  vanishing  world,  lonely  and  strange 
in  its  blurring  features.  But  the  flaming  log 
on  the  hearth,  the  lighted  candles  and  singing 
kettle  and  shining  plates  gave  the  big  room  a 
look  of  friendly  cheer  which  lightened  the 
Major's  forebodings. 

When  he  went  away  early  in  the  following 
afternoon  he  felt  convinced  that  Lucy  had 
been  wise  in  coming  to  the  cove. 

"The  largeness  of  the  outlook,"  mused  the 
Major,  "will  clear  the  child's  mind.  She  was 
right  in  her  instincts." 

The  largeness  of  the  outlook  was  not,  in 
point  of  fact,  especially  evident  to  Lucy's  per- 
ceptions. In  spite  of  it  and  of  the  small  oc- 
cupations with  which  she  filled  her  days  in 
the  seclusion  of  the  hills,  bitter  and  sorrowful 


BOUND  IN  SnALLOWS  887 

thoughts  haunted  her.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
these  musings  lifted  for  a  day,  and  a  hint  of 
life  and  possible  content  came  to  her  as  she 
walked  through  the  woods  about  the  house, 
or  rode  to  the  station  with  Janet's  husband, 
or  visited  with  Janet  some  humble  neighbor 
across  the  ridge.  But  oftener  there  was  a 
sickening  remembrance  upon  her,  from  which 
nothing  ojEfered  release. 

When  there  was  service  at  the  church,  a  win- 
dowless  log  structure,  with  puncheon  seats  laid 
on  cross-sticks  in  its  expanse,  she  went  with 
the  others  to  enjoy  the  preaching  of  such  moun- 
tain exhorters  as  chanced  along. 

"  They  ain't  book-rarned,"  said  Janet ;  "  but 
even  when  you  don't  hear  a  word  that  cheers 
or  instructs  you  from  the  preacher's  mouth,  I 
claim  it's  a  good  thing  to  go  and  set  for  an  hour 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord.  The  world  sort  of 
loosens  its  grip  on  you,  seems  like,  and  you 
got  more  stren'th  to  fight  it,  tooth  and  nail, 
when  it  jumps  on  to  you  agin." 

"And  the  air  sharpens  a  body's  appetite 
for  Sunday  dinner,"  added  Janet's  husband, 
thoughtfully.  "Religion  is  a  mighty  good 
thing  any  way  you  take  it." 

Once,  in  a  day  when  the  winds  were  still  and 
a  breath  of  summer  retook  the  chilled  earth, 
they  rode  to  the  Cumberland  itself,  and,  de- 


238  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

scending  a  gorge,  viewed  the  broad  sea  of  wa- 
ter which  widens  in  a  lake-like  stretch  above 
the  falls.  At  this  point  the  noise  of  the  cata- 
ract was  a  deafening  roar.  Dashing  in  a  fall 
of  sixty  feet,  the  current  blinded  the  air  as 
with  the  smoke  of  a  field  of  battle.  Logs 
blackened  the  stream,  showing  the  terrific 
speed  of  the  current  as  they  dashed  over  the 
break.  Now  and  then  a  piece  of  timber  nos- 
ing the  shore  showed  the  familiar  brand  of  the 
mill  at  Streamlet  impressed  in  the  wood  long 
before,  when  the  mountain  runnels  were  only 
trickling  threads. 

Beyond  the  river  the  roof  of  an  old  hotel, 
used  as  a  place  of  entertainment  for  summer 
visitors,  extended  its  long  roofs  and  spray-wet 
walls.  It  was  closed  and  desolate-looking  in 
the  hold  of  the  winter  cliffs  and  with  the  tum- 
bling river  at  its  doors,  but  as  Lucy  looked 
along  the  porches  where,  in  a  by-gone  August, 
she  had  walked  and  idled  with  her  Woodford 
County  kinsfolk,  a  sudden  remembrance  of 
summer  green  and  rich  vines  and  serene  wa- 
ters came  upon  her. 

Life  had  seemed  then  so  soft,  so  pliant  in  its 
substance,  waiting  to  be  pressed  with  light  and 
happy  fingers  into  any  beautiful  and  permanent 
shape  that  one  might  choose  !  Now  it  appeared 
to  her  a  stuff  of  stern  fibre,  not  easily  moulded 


\ 


BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS  889 

by  any  one  according  to  his  desire,  but  settling 
of  itself  into  scarcely  alterable  figures,  warped 
or  straight  according  as  it  would. 

**  There's  a  rock  yender  where  you  can  stand 
and  see  three  States,"  remarked  Janet's  hus- 
band. 

*' Yes,  Fve  stood  on  it,"  said  Lucy,  fastened 
still  to  those  older  memories.  *'It  seems  very 
long  ago." 

In  the  middle  of  December  a  letter  from 
Dillon  came.  He  had  easily  found  out  her 
whereabouts,  and  had  written,  he  said,  because 
he  could  not  help  it.  He  made  no  mention  of 
Mrs.  McBeath's  denunciations.  He  said  noth- 
ing now  of  his  unworthiness  or  grief  or  peni- 
tence ;  he  spoke  only  of  his  love.  His  diction 
had  its  usual  smack  of  allusion.  Phrases  of 
the  patriarchs  mingled  with  felicitous  turns 
caught  from  modern  singers,  and  gave  the 
written  sheets  a  certain  atmosphere  of  famil- 
iar charm.  But,  despite  his  verbal  aptitude, 
the  matter  of  the  letter  was  vapid  and  point- 
less. He  loved  Lucy  still.  He  hoped  still  for 
sympathy  and  comprehension,  and  he  knew  too 
well  her  loveliness  of  character  to  feel  that  she 
would  any  longer  withhold  the  assuring  word 
he  asked. 

The  very  sight  of  his  hand,  graceful,  easy, 
half  feminine,  moved  Lucy  deeply.     Even  be- 


BOUND  IN  SnALLOWS 


fore  she  tore  away  the  envelope  she  had  a  dizzy 
feeling.  The  walls  of  her  little  room  seemed 
to  be  whirling  away,  and  her  fingers  were  weak 
and  unsteady.  She  read  the  closely  written 
pages  in  a  sort  of  passion  of  haste,  impelled  by 
an  incomprehensible  mixture  of  interest  and 
contempt ;  and  when  she  had  finished  she  let 
the  letter  fall,  and  shrank  back  in  her  chair, 
trembling. 

A  dimly  defined  peril  appeared  to  be  lurking 
near  her.  She  feared  to  see  its  face,  and  yet 
something  in  her  pressed  her  to  look  calmly 
upon  it  and  accept  it.  All  the  little  belong- 
ings of  her  daily  life  began  to  give  her  a  sense 
of  distaste ;  she  seemed  to  be  sensible  of  a 
loathing  for  everything  which  held  her  to  a 
stern  remembrance  of  what  her  ideals  had 
been,  and  of  the  kind  of  woman  she  had  tried 
and  hoped  to  be.  In  a  kind  of  scared  haste 
she  put  on  her  wraps,  and  went  out  to  see  if 
air  and  movement  might  not  restore  her. 

It  was  clear  and  cold  in  the  low  places  about 
the  house,  and  clearer  and  colder  still  as  she 
mounted  the  southern  rise,  and,  with  Luther 
darting  before  her  at  jack-rabbits  and  squirrels, 
came  into  the  higher  levels.  The  sky  was  pur- 
ple with  snow  that  had  already  begun  to  fall 
lightly  as  Lucy  passed  under  the  tanbark  oaks. 
She  walked  at  a  smart  gait,  seeing  little  before 


BOUKD  IN  SHALLOWS  241 

her,  struggling  only  in  a  frightened  way  to 
shake  off  the  impulses  that  were  with  her. 

But  neither  the  swift  movement  nor  the 
sharp  air  served  to  scatter  the  vision  she  strove 
to  avoid ;  on  all  sides  Dillon's  face  appealed 
to  her,  not  for  forgiveness  now,  or  help  or  com- 
passion or  comfort,  but  simply  by  the  magic 
of  its  gentleness,  its  confiding  lips,  its  seeking 
eyes,  its  passion  of  youth  and  love.  Lucy  could 
see  his  dark  pupils  widen  in  a  fixed,  long  gaze ; 
his  nervous  hands  touched  her  hair,  and  his 
voice,  with  its  flexible,  sweet  undertone,  rang 
constantly  in  her  ears. 

**  Oh,"  she  cried  out,  turning  her  face  to  the 
skies,  "  I  beg  you  to  help  me !  Lord,  I  am 
greatly  in  need !" 

Then  upon  her  hot,  closed  eyes  there  came 
a  sight  of  women  with  flushed  faces,  of  men 
laughing  and  reckless,  gathered  in  some  wild 
carnival  of  gayety ;  of  glasses  shattered  in  an 
uproarious  toast ;  of  songs  and  shouts  and  li- 
cense ;  of  hateful  music  and  a  riot  of  reeling 
forms.  Her  ignorant  fancy  took  in  this  scene 
with  a  faltering,  vague  sense.  The  insight  was 
clearer  when  there  came  to  her  some  idea  of 
an  office  with  the  aspect  common  to  business 
places,  and  occupied  with  grave  men  who  list- 
ened while  one  among  them  lifted  his  old 
voice  in  a  plea  for  mercy  upon  the  abased,  dis- 


242  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

honored  figure  cronched  beside  him.  It  was 
vivid  enough,  this  imagining ;  but  not  so  vivid 
as  the  bare  burial  knoll  which  swept  it  by — 
the  bare  burial  knoll  of  Streamlet,  with  the  up- 
land wind  stirring  the  rough  grass  around  a 
new  yellow  mound,  and  carrying  the  accents  of 
a  bitter  voice  away  beyond  the  rude  crosses. 

Lucy  turned  back.  There  was  a  rigidity  in 
her  face  as  of  resolution  enforced  by  a  difficult 
effort.  The  following  evening  Dillon  found  in 
his  post-office  box  a  letter  of  one  line.  It  was 
from  Lucy,  and  it  asked  him  not  to  write  to 
her  again. 


XX 


In  Streamlet  it  was  winter  and  desolate. 
The  hills  were  bald  and  bare.  The  sphinx 
knob,  denuded  of  foliage,  revealed  ledge  upon 
ledge  of  grinning  rock ;  it  looked  as  if  showing 
its  teeth  fiercely,  as  if  snarling  a  menace  upon 
the  little  town  crouching  below,  pitifully  small 
now  in  the  emptiness  of  the  valley,  where  fall 
had  nibbled  close  the  last  stalk,  the  last  leaf. 
The  house  of  the  general,  with  its  huge  chim- 
ney and  heavy  walls,  alone  seemed  able  to  with- 
stand the  weather.  The  other  dwellings  of  the 
bottoms  appeared  shrunken  and  insufficient. 
Even  the  hotel  wore  a  stark,  chill  air,  as  if  the 
rigors  of  frost  were  in  its  timbers. 

Snow  came  at  frequent  intervals,  banking  the 
higher  roads  in  dry  white,  and  melting  along 
the  lower  places  of  the  town  in  illimitable  red 
mud.  The  rivers  were  become  great  rushing 
currents,  yellow  and  dense  as  viscid  oil,  and 
floating  an  enormous  drift  of  logs  and  staves 
and  tangling  bark. 


244  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

The  walnut  wood  had  not  been  put  in  reach 
of  the  December  tides,  for  the  incoming  timber 
of  the  mill  had  proved  unnsnally  large,  and  the 
full  capacity  of  the  boom  was  required  in  han- 
dling it.  To  risk  a  crush  had  not  been  thought 
advisable,  and  the  McBeath  timber  was  there- 
fore reserved  for  later  water. 

Towards  the  beginning  of  February  Dillon 
had  finally  arranged  for  its  delivery,  but  an  ex- 
pected rise,  upon  which  he  depended  to  bring 
down  the  logs,  fell  short,  occasioning  a  delay 
which  gave  him  some  concern. 

^^  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  the  sawyer,  "  so  long 
as  she  don't  spring  a  freshet  on  you.  Though, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  like  it  when  she  holds 
up  this  time  of  year  and  just  simmers  along. 
Things  are  beginning  to  melt  up  yender  in  the 
South  Fork  kentry.  "Well,  you'll  have  to  put 
your  trust  where  you  jedge  it  '11  do  most  good. 
Mountain  streams  is  as  treacherous  as  the  fe- 
male sext." 

Dillon  uttered  a  note  of  irritation.  "What's 
all  this  talk  ?    Isn't  the  boom  solid  ?" 

The  sawyer  assumed  a  noncommittal  expres- 
sion as  he  said  :  ''You  kin  blow  a  mountain 
holler  if  you  got  powder  enough.  A  boom's  a 
boom ;  'tain't  the  wall  of  Ohiny  ner  the  Bank 
of  England." 

Dillon  turned  on  his  heel.     The  months  had 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  34B 

not  dealt  kindly  with  him.  He  had  grown  heav- 
ier, indeed,  but  the  uneven  color  threading  his 
face  in  little  broken  lines  hardly  contributed 
to  a  suggestion  of  entire  well-being.  A  look  of 
continual  annoyance  marked  his  face,  and  in 
matters  so  small  as  the  suggestion  of  careless 
smoking  in  the  burned  ends  of  his  mustache  a 
certain  listlessness  or  recklessness  was  defined 
in  his  appearance. 

Lucy's  letter,  which  he  had  received  some 
weeks  before,  had  surprised  and  angered  him. 
He  had  feared  that  she  might  not  write,  in- 
deed ;  but  if  she  wrote  at  all  he  had  thought 
it  would  be  in  a  sorrowful  vein,  making  some 
tender  feint  of  renouncing  him,  giving  him  a 
tacit  hope,  or,  if  not  hope,  at  least  such  con- 
solation as  might  lie  in  the  demonstration  of 
her  grief.  The  sharp,  hard  line  of  the  real  let- 
ter struck  him  sorely.  He  had  believed  his 
hold  upon  Lucy  deeper,  stronger ;  and  at  sight 
of  the  simple  words,  which  told  him  nothing  of 
the  actual  weakness  underlying  their  apparent 
force  and  firmness,  he  was  sensible  of  a  chagrin 
involving  almost  his  last  shred  of  self-con- 
fidence. 

Then,  too,  the  McBeath  affair  had  become 
generally  known  throughout  the  town,  and  ev- 
erywhere Dillon  began  to  encounter  looks  of 
coldness  and  contempt.     These  he  was  able  to 


348  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

endure;  but  when  the  common  idlers  of  the 
place  began  to  treat  him  with  the  rough  famil- 
iarity whichj  in  lieu  of  reprobation,  coarse  minds 
usually  display  towards  a  man  who  has  relin- 
quished all  right  to  their  respect,  Dillon  grew 
keenly  aware  of  the  levelling  power  of  his  con- 
duct. 

His  position  at  the  mill  would  not  be  tenable 
much  longer.  He  realized  this  in  Dunbar's  man- 
ner, and  he  determined  upon  leaving  Streamlet 
immediately  upon  the  conclusion  of  his  timber 
transaction. 

Any  delay  in  this  business  was  consequently 
very  trying  to  him,  and  he  welcomed  with  en- 
thusiasm the  news  Avliich  one  day  came  of  heavy 
rains  at  New  River.  The  South  Fork,  lifting 
convexly  in  its  banks,  began  to  run  high  and 
fast,  and  at  dusk  of  the  day  of  the  tidings,  as 
Dillon  talked  with  a  shoe  drummer  in  the  ho- 
tel office,  a  logger  came  to  tell  him  that  the  wal- 
nut was  pressing  into  the  boom. 

Several  men  sat  smoking  in  the  moderate 
glow  of  an  oil-lamp  on  the  office  table.  The 
tall,  whitewashed  stove  roared  cheerfully,  and 
managed  to  render  less  dreary  the  swishing  of 
rain  on  the  great  windows  and  the  monotonous 
drip  of  water  from  the  laths  in  the  broken  ceil- 
ing. Under  this  patch  of  fallen  plaster  a  black 
pool  was  forming  and  oozing  slowly  off  between 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  247 

the  boards  of  the  floor.  Mud  had  dried  in  a 
crust  on  the  foot-rail  of  the  stove,  but  slipping 
tracks  of  it  about  the  door  seemed  like  an  in- 
vasion of  the  clay-cowled  paths  outside. 

Now  and  then  the  door  opened  to  admit  a 
drenched  man  and  a  flow  of  wind.  A  stock  of 
heavy  boots  and  shoes  invested  two  long  tables 
under  the  pillars  to  the  right,  and  a  smell  of 
fresh  leather  blended  with  the  prevailing  odors 
of  tobacco. 

Dillon  dismissed  the  messenger  and  returned 
with  renewed  spirits  to  the  conversation.  He 
was  finishing  the  narration  of  some  story  in 
which  the  shoe  drummer  exhibited  a  flattering 
interest  when  the  logger  came  back,  leaving  the 
mud  about  the  door  honeycombed  from  his 
spiked  soles. 

'*  I  bought  a  stack  of  the  whites,"  Dillon  con- 
tinued, half  turning.  "Things  were  looking 
pretty  desperate  about  that  time,  and,  wheth- 
er it  was  the  color  or  not,  the  luck  turned; 
everything  began  to  come  my  way,  and —  Well, 
what  is  it  now  ?" 

A  nervous  pallor  struck  him  as  he  listened. 
The  river  was  growing  terribly  full,  and  the 
logs  were  plunging  down  altogether  too  fast. 
More  men  were  needed  to  help  to  store  the 
timber  in  the  boom.  Cables  were  necessary, 
urgent  measures  imperative. 


248  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

"Davis  says  he's  going  to  set  all  hands  to 
rafting,"  said  the  man,  wringing  out  his  hat. 
^'He  needs  more  rope  and  staples  than  he's 
got,  and  he  says  you  better  git  'em  there  as 
quick  as  the  Lord  '11  let  ye ;  the  boom's  chuck- 
full.  If  she  ain't  eased  she's  liable  to  let  the 
stufE  through." 

Dillon,  cold  with  foreboding,  made  his  way 
into  the  stormy  darkness.  The  big  bare  beech- 
es were  whipping  in  the  wind,  the  signal-light 
smeared  the  wet  ties  with  oily  orange.  About 
the  station  it  was  dark  and  still,  and  farther 
away  everything  was  hooded  in  impenetrable 
night.  Not  a  hint  of  the  town  broke  through 
the  lessening  rain  till,  at  the  brow  of  the  hill 
road,  the  bowl -like  dip  of  its  site  suddenly 
became  apparent.  It  was  prayer-meeting  night, 
and  the  church's  narrow  windows  shed  slits  of 
red  upon  the  darkness.  A  sound  of  singing, 
baffled  and  frustrated  by  the  wind,  came  and 
went.  Other  lights  shone  round  about.  They 
shook  in  the  wet  like  so  many  lanterns  set  in 
the  prow  of  boats  moored  in  a  hill-locked  har- 
bor. 

Down  in  the  slushy  bottoms  the  clamor  of  the 
rivers  took  Dillon's  sense,  intermingled  with 
the  hoarse  cries  of  the  loggers,  the  heavy  thud  of 
driving  staples,  and  the  sibilant  cackling  of  the 
lire  in  the  iron  baskets  along  the  bank.     Then 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  840 

the  swollen  currents  came  in  sight,  splashed 
across  with  fiery  vermilion  and  ribbed  with 
timber  and  scaled  with  silvery  staves  that  shone 
on  the  surface  like  some  light  leprous  affection 
of  the  water.  Along  the  river's  edge  the  boom- 
logs  dipped  and  wavered,  grating  their  links  of 
chain,  while  hurrying  shapes  moved  back  and 
forth,  casting  long,  weird  shadows  up  the  slopes. 
Great  heaps  of  drift,  loosened  from  the  boom, 
thatched  the  central  waters  in  heaving  black, 
and  above,  on  the  floating  head  of  the  works, 
men  were  plying  long  pike-poles,  grappling  the 
timber  still,  though  manifestly  unable  any 
longer  to  store  it  safely. 

Every  moment,  despite  attempts  at  reaching 
it,  wood  was  eluding  the  workers.  Already  a 
noticeable  quantity  had  passed  through  the 
chained  confines  of  the  boom  and  out  into  the 
stream.  Dillon  could  see  it  wheeling  by.  Ho 
stood  on  the  bank  palsied,  watching  the  escap- 
ing timber  and  listening  to  the  excited  shouts 
of  the  workmen,  the  scream  of  the  wind,  and 
the  steady  clash  of  the  current.  These  noises 
seemed  to  fill  the  night  with  an  unintelligi- 
ble uproar  of  fear  and  danger,  yet,  suddenly 
enough,  through  it  all  a  single  sharp  cry  of 
warning  rang  in  clear  syllables,  "  She's  going  ! 
the  stuff  is  passing  out !" 

There  was  a  hollow,  rushing  sound,  a  tre- 


250  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

mendous  heave  in  the  cramped  timber.  Then 
the  river,  floored  solid  with  swift  logs,  swept 
steadily  by,  and  Dillon  knew  that  the  whole 
of  the  walnut  wood  was  on  its  way  to  the  open 
sea. 

Men  gathered  about  him  ;  he  heard  a  confu- 
sion of  voices  and  felt  a  flask  at  his  lips.  The 
liquor  revived  him  somewhat,  and,  drenched 
with  the  splash  of  the  current,  dazed,  stricken, 
he  began  to  stumble  up  the  bank  and  through 
the  plastic  lower  roads  to  the  hill. 

All  the  village  lights  were  out  now,  for  it 
was  away  past  midnight,  and  only  the  lantern 
which  some  one  had  thrust  into  his  hand  en- 
abled him  to  flnd  his  way.  In  the  blinding 
blur  of  its  rays  strange,  motionless  black 
things  showed  their  small,  thick  shapes  along 
in  the  road,  cuddling  close  to  the  stones,  lurk- 
ing everywhere  in  a  still,  sinister  fashion. 
Dillon  had  got  himself  half-way  up  the  hill  be- 
fore he  recognized  them  as  nothing  more  ac- 
tual than  intensifled  shadows  of  the  stones  at 
his  feet,  cast  into  vivid  relief  by  the  nearness 
of  the  light. 

Across  the  hotel  porch  a  faint  glow  fell  from 
the  office  windows.  It  seemed  like  the  ra- 
diance of  the  fire  shed  from  the  stove's  open 
door.  Some  one  appeared  to  be  raking  out  the 
ashes,  renewing   the   coals,  for  Dillon  caught 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  261 

the  sound  of  the  poker  and  the  hissing  of  dis- 
turbed embers  even  before  he  set  his  uncer- 
tain foot  on  the  steps  or  laid  his  wet  shoulder 
against  the  heavy  panels  of  the  door. 

The  wind  chopped  suddenly  upon  him  and 
thrust  him  across  the  threshold.  He  caught 
at  the  door  and  clapped  it  to,  and  stayed  him- 
self for  a  moment,  breathless  and  bewildered, 
with  slivers  of  glass  from  a  shattered  side  of 
the  lantern  falling  about  him  on  the  office 
floor.  It  seemed  to  him  that  some  one  gave  a 
little  cry,  and  presently  his  stunned,  stupid 
eyes  saw  on  her  knees  before  the  fire  a  woman 
in  a  loose  black  gown,  with  a  loose  black  braid 
of  hair  hanging  to  the  floor  behind  her.  She 
did  not  speak  or  rise.  The  firelight  sharpened 
her  features,  burnishing  the  long  throat,  deep- 
ening the  hollows  of  the  startled  eyes,  refining 
the  heaviness  of  the  parted  lips. 

Dillon  stared  dully  at  Alexa.  She  had  not 
spoken  to  him  at  all  for  weeks  and  weeks,  nor 
noticed  him  in  any  way ;  but  as  he  stood  gaz- 
ing towards  her  he  had  an  intimation  that  she 
had  heard  of  his  loss,  had  known  he  would 
come  in  late,  half  -  drowned,  half -crazed,  and 
had  stolen  from  her  bed  to  keep  the  fire  up,  so 
that  he  might  at  least  be  warmed. 

The  perception  gave  him  neither  pleasure 
nor  surprise,  nor  indeed  any  sensation.     lie 


362  BOUND  IN  SnALLOWS 

felt  nothing  but  a  growing  dimness  of  vision. 
The  excitement  through  which  he  had  passed, 
the  exposure,  the  buffeting  of  the  wind,  tlie 
drenching  rain,  and  the  raw  whiskey  he  had 
drunk  began  to  tell  upon  him  in  the  heat  of 
the  office.  Life  seemed  to  be  wheeling  away ; 
an  overpowering  dread  caught  at  his  heart  and 
held  his  breath,  and  below  his  feet  the  firm 
earth  appeared  to  melt. 

In  another  instant  there  was  a  firm  grasp 
upon  his  arm  ;  some  force  sustained  him,  and 
drew  him  forward  and  into  one  of  the  knife- 
nicked  office-chairs  beside  the  fire.  In  his  ear 
Alexa*s  voice  sounded  in  some  stifled,  inex- 
plicable confusion  of  broken  sentences,  inter- 
larded with  murmurs  of  pity  or  alarm  or  plead- 
ing, and  with  one  recurrent  word,  which  finally 
took  hold  upon  his  recovering  sense. 

Seeing  that  Dillon  had  come  to  himself  and 
was  quietly  regarding  her,  Alexa  grew  at  once 
silent  and  shrank  away. 

"  Forgiveness,  Alexa  ?"  he  said,  relieved  of 
the  deadly  weakness  which  had  been  with  him. 
"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  Is  it  possible 
that  I  heard  you  asking  me  to  forgive  you  ? 
For  what  ?" 

Alexa  hung  back  in  the  shadows  beyond  the 
shaft  of  light.  Her  face  was  frightened  and 
moved,  and  she  kept   her  hands  against  her 


BOTJKD  IN  SHALLOVS  268 

bosom,  as  if  the  beating  of  the  heart  was  too 
fast. 

^Tve  brought  all  this  on  you,"  she  whis- 
pered; "everything  that's  gone  wrong  —  the 
flood — her — everything  is  my  fault.  I  prayed 
that  you  mightn't  be  successful  or  happy." 
Her  tones  died  faintly,  and  Dillon  roused  him- 
self from  a  contemplation  of  this  statement 
and  began  to  laugh. 

"  You  prayed,  did  you  ? — you  poor  child  ! — 
and  God  gave  you  the  same  thoughtful  con- 
sideration which  he  accorded  the  patriarchs 
when  they  asked  that  their  enemies  be  con- 
founded. Do  you  still  write  letters  to  Santa 
Claus,  Alexa  ?" 

A  sob  echoed  from  the  shadowed  obscurity 
where  Alexa  hid  herself,  and,  catching  it,  Dil- 
lon changed  his  tone,  and,  speaking  gravely, 
asked,  **  But  why  should  you  call  down  the 
wrath  of  Heaven  on  me,  Alexa  ?  What  have 
you  against  me  ?    What  have  I  done  ?" 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  a  low  voice  stole 
f alteringly  from  the  farther  darkness :  "  I  want- 
ed you  to  suffer  like  you'd  made  me." 

Dillon  leaned  from  his  chair  with  a  little 
imperative  gesture,  saying,  quietly,  "  Come 
here."  There  was  no  response  to  this,  and  he 
repeated,  ''  Come,  Alexa." 

A  movement  disturbed  the  shadow  then,  and 


354  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

Alexa,  as  if  forced  by  some  power  with  which 
pride  had  vainly  struggled,  stole  slowly  into 
sight.  He  reached  ont  and  hastened  her  ad- 
vance by  drawing  her  towards  him  with  a  gen- 
tle hand.  "You  loved  me,  after  all,  didn't 
you  ?"  he  said,  smiling  a  little.  "I  knew  it 
well  enough." 

Alexa  looked  at  him,  and  fell  to  weeping 
sorely.  "  Of  course  you  know  I  did,"  she  sobbed. 
"  I  don't  care  who  hears  me.  I  did.  And  when 
I  found  you  didn't  care  a  thing  in  the  world 
for  me — not  so  much  as  the  wrappings  of  your 
finger — I — my  heart  broke ;  yes,  it  broke.  And 
I  promised  to  marry  Mm  —  that  poor  fellow 
that's  gone — because  I  had  enough  pride  left — 
then — ^to  want  to  show  you  I  hadn't  been  any 
more  in  earnest  than  you.  Oh,  it's  good  he's 
passed  where  his  troubles  are  done,  for  I  don't 
think  I  could  of  married  him  when  it  came  to 
the  last !  I  used  to  feel  sometimes  as  if  I'd 
die  unless  I  told  him  right  out  that,  mean  as 
you'd  treated  me,  I  loved  you  still." 

Dillon  held  her  a  little  away,  and  regarded 
her  and  drew  her  back  again  as  he  said,  "  What 
a  poor,  spiritless  thing  you  are,  Alexa,  to  care 
like  this  for  a  miserable  beggar  who  hasn't 
anything  in  the  world  except  a  lot  of  debts 
he  can't  pay  and  a  disgraced  name — a  fellow 
who  has  never  been,  and  probably  never  will 


BOUinO  IN  SHALLOWS  25S 

be,  true  to  anything  or  any  one,  and  who  has 
been  twice  jilted  by  the  girl  he  preferred  to 
yon  !  Suppose  some  one  had  come  and  told 
you,  Alexa,  that  I  was  guilty  of  some  contemp- 
tible crime  or  other,  or  a  number  of  contempti- 
ble crimes,  would  you  have  thrown  me  down  ?'* 

"  I  couldn't  of,"  wept  Alexa. 

"  She  was  afraid  her  own  flawless  whiteness 
of  soul  might  get  corrupted  or  spoiled,  or  some- 
thing, if  she  stood  by  me.  She  had  a  pious 
notion  that  a  good  woman  can't  continue  to 
love  a  bad  man  without  suffering  contamina- 
tion. Maybe  you  can  understand  this,  Alexa, 
being  a  woman.  Being  a  man,  and  therefore 
only  an  elemental  creature,  it  seems  to  me  that 
if  the  love  amounted  to  anything  it  wouldn't 
be  able  to  reason  around  all  these  fine  points. 
What  do  you  think,  Alexa  ? — eh  ?  Aren't  you 
afraid  the  angels  are  shedding  mournful  tears 
because  I  have  got  my  corrupt  arm  around 
you?" 

Alexa's  reply  was  not  of  a  direct  nature ;  but 
it  denoted  many  things,  among  which  was  a  cer- 
tain comprehension"  of  the  meaning  of  Lucy's 
position,  and  a  sense  of  her  own  personal 
unwillingness  to  forego,  in  the  interests  of  a 
dimly  defined  and  altogether  colorless  higher 
life,  anything  worth  having  in  the  lower  ranges 
of  existence. 


866  BOUUD  m  SHAIiLOWS 

'*  Fve  got  only,  one  life  to  live/'  said  Alexa. 

"  Alexa !  Alexa  !  yon  aren*t  afraid  that  heav- 
en is  slipping  away  ?" 

"  It  seems  nearer  than  commoh/'  said  Alexa. 

He  did  not  laugh.  He  dropped  his  head  on 
his  breast  and  rested  his  cold  cheek  upon  her 
hand,  and  bitterly  contrasted  this  unquestion- 
ing love  with  Lucy's  scruples  and  doubts  and 
decisions.  The  human  comfort  which  stole 
upon  him  from  Alexa's  presence  and  Alexa's 
simply  defined  adoration  warmed  and  consoled 
him  ;  yet  he  was  perfectly  sensible  of  a  strong 
distaste  for  the  common  perfume  in  which 
Alexa  was  accustomed  to  drench  her  coarse, 
long  hair. 

"  Help  me  up/'  he  said ;  "  help  me  as  far  as 
the  hall  door,  Alexa.  I  am  mud  from  head  to 
foot  and  unutterably  weak.  I  shouldn't  ask 
it,  perhaps,  but  you  won't  mind  lending  me  a 
hand,  will  you,  or  wince  or  flinch  if  your  sleeve 
gets  soiled  ?" 


It  was  a  raw  day  in  late  Febrnary,  with  a 
thin  blanketing  of  snow  throughout  the  cove, 
and  a  heavy  whiteness  resting  stole-like  on  the 
massive  shoulders  of  the  mountains  all  around. 
Winds  were  snarling  in  the  slender  tanbark 
oaks  and  squatting  firs.  The  rumble  of  slow 
and  heavy  wheels  sounded  in  the  frozen  road 
branching  downward  from  the  ridge,  and  at 
the  rumor  of  hoofs  a  great  barking  arose  in 
the  porch  of  the  log  house. 

The  door  opened,  and  Janet  appeared  in  the 
threshold,  speeding  an  inquisitive  glance  tow- 
ards the  approaching  wagon.  "Any  mail?" 
she  called  to  her  husband,  whose  scarf -encircled 
head  inclined  comfortably  over  the  reins. 

"Expectin'  any?''  he  inquired,  fetching  up. 
"  Seem  like  you're  mo'  curious  after  mail  these 
days  'n  ever  I  knowed  you." 

"D' law,  man!"  said  Janet.  "You  sense 
right  well  that  I  ain't  looking  for  no  word. 
It's  Miss  Lucy  as  is  always  speckelatin'  about 

17 


258  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

the  post  and  seeing  letters  in  the  candles. 
Makes  me  right  sick  when  there's  nothing  for 
her,  she  Spears  so  disappointed.  Huh  !  Oh,  you 
got  something,  have  you  ?  Why  'n  earth  didn't 
you  say  so  ?  I'll  take  it  right  in  to  her.  She's 
ben  mighty  downcast  this  last  week." 

She  reached  up  for  the  packet  which  her 
husband  unearthed  from  some  interior  depth, 
and  as  she  inspected  it  she  said  :  "  It's  from 
Mis'  Morrow  !"  A  pleased  smile  increased  the 
beaming  breadth  of  her  placid  face,  and  she 
hurried  across  the  big  living-room  and  stopped 
at  the  door  of  Lucy's  chamber  and  rapped, 
and,  without  waiting  for  any  response,  pushed 
into  the  apartment. 

Lucy  was  sitting  by  the  window  with  a  book 
in  her  lap.  Her  elbows  were  fixed  upon  the 
crumpled  pages  and  her  face  was  buried  in  her 
hands.  At  Janet's  entrance  she  recovered  her- 
self from  what  had  appeared  to  be  a  bitter  sort 
of  reverie,  and  lifted  a  startled  brow  and  re- 
garded the  woman  with  paling  eyes. 

"  I  went  to  work  and  scared  you,  didn't  I, 
honey  ?"  said  Janet.  *^I  hardly  took  sense  of 
what  I  was  doing,  being  so  eager.  I  got  a  let- 
ter for  you." 

The  book  slipped  from  Lucy's  knees  in  her 
sudden  movement.  She  stretched  a  shaking 
hand,  breathing,  "A  letter  ?  ah — " 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  259 

"  From  your  ma/'  announced  Janet,  deliver- 
ing the  heavy  enclosure,  and  marvelling  that 
Lucy's  head  should  sink  back  in  so  sudden  an 
aspect  of  weariness.  "  She's  a  faithful  writer, 
your  ma  is — ^has  a  mighty  trick  with  the  pen. 
Me,  I  could  no  more  cover  the  sheets  she 
sends  you  every  week  o'  the  world  than  I  could 
fly !  After  I'd  put  down,  '  Favor  received  and 
contents  noted,'  I'd  be  at  the  end  of  my  string. 
"Well,  honey,  I'll  leave  you  to  cipher  it  out  in 
peace.     Come,  Luther !" 

"  When  are  you  coming  home  to  us,  dearest 
Lucy  ?"  wrote  Mrs.  Morrow.  ^^  Always  you  say 
*soon,'  but  the  days  pass  and  you  do  not  come. 
But  for  your  papa's  rheumatism,  which  has 
greatly  worried  him  of  late,  I  should  have 
come  to  fetch  you  away  in  spite  of  yourself. 
Now,  however,  the  weather  will  soon  be  mild 
again  and  he  will  improve.  Streamlet,  too, 
will  put  on  its  spring-time  garb ;  wild  flowers 
will  bloom  along  the  hills,  and  everything  will 
make  your  return  a  bright  and  happy  one.  Oh, 
dear  Lucy,  how  I  miss  you  !  We  always  went 
everywhere  together,  and  talked  over  things, 
and  had  our  fancy  work  of  evenings,  and  I  am 
quite  lost  without  you !  I  tried  to  finish  the 
lunch-cloth  you  began,  but  I  could  not.  My 
tears  wet  the  silks  through  and  through.  Some 
of  them  ran — especially  the  lilacs.   They  could 


260  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

not  have  been  fast  colors.  Yesterday  tlie 
preacher's  niece  called ;  she  asked  particularly 
for  yon.  Among  other  things  she  was  telling 
me  that  the  engineer  is  very  angry  because  his 
wife  has  taken  Lete  Haight  to  help  with  the 
housework.  It  is  not  only  Lete's  character 
that  he  objects  to,  but  the  fact  that  she  cannot 
cook  or  do  anything  properly,  and  had  to  be 
begged  to  come  and  has  to  be  coaxed  to  stay. 
He  is  at  present  taking  his  meals  at  the  hotel, 
where,  he  says,  he  can  at  least  get  something 
to  eat,  and  shall  continue  to  do  so  till  his  wife 
sends  Lete  away.  This  his  wife  refuses  to  do. 
She  says  that  she  cannot  allow  mere  voices  of 
nature  to  call  her  from  life's  nobler  missions. 
To  rescue  the  perishing,  she  tells  the  engineer, 
is  a  higher  duty  than  to  see  to  it  that  a  hus- 
band's coffee  is  exactly  to  his  taste.  And,  in- 
deed, Lucy,  it  seems  as  if  she  were  right, 
though  I  fear  it  is  going  to  take  some  time  to 
regenerate  poor  Lete.  I  see  her  wheeling  the 
engineer's  baby  on  the  bluff  as  I  pen  these 
lines.  She  has  got  a  great  many  red  feathers 
in  her  hat,  and  is  nodding  and  smiling  in  her 
silly  way  at  some  workmen  who  are  mending 
the  switch  on  the  tracks  below.  The  baby  is 
crying  very  loudly  indeed.  But,  of  course,  the 
engineer's  wife  cannot  reprimand  her,  for  she 
would  leave  at  once.     This  is  a  baffling  world. 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  261 

dearest  Lucy,  Not  much  has  happened  in 
your  absence.  The  sawyer^s  daughter  and  Bud 
Petty  were  married  last  week,  and  Halifax 
Bums  is  down  with  another  attack.  I  thought 
Dr.  Taliaferro  spoke  rather  harshly  of  the  poor 
old  man  when  I  inquired.  He  was  always  just 
a  little  hard,  the  doctor,  and  never  seemed  to 
try  to  exercise  towards  human  weaknesses  that 
large,  tolerant  spirit  which  is  incumbent  on  all 
of  us.  He  tells  me  that  he  is  going  abroad  in 
May.  We  shall  miss  him.  The  poor  will  also 
miss  him,  for  though,  as  I  say,  he  is  not  as 
gentle  as  he  might  be  with  poor  creatures  who 
get  hurt  in  fights  or  who  have  delirium  tremens 
and  such  things  as  a  result  of  that  human 
frailty  which  we,  who  are  strong,  ought  to  bear 
with  so  considerately,  still  he  never  sends  in 
bills  to  those  who  cannot  afford  to  pay,  and  I 
have  known  him  do  numbers  of  kindly  little 
things  for  people.  Now,  dear  Lucy,  there  is  a 
subject  which  I  have  thought  best  to  avoid  in 
my  letters  to  you.  But  it  seems  now  as  if  I 
had  better  introduce  it,  once  for  all.  Mr. 
Dillon  is  also  going  away,  and  you  need  not 
delay  your  return  through  any  fear  of  meeting 
him.  His  going  will  not  be  deeply  regret- 
ted, for  he  has  lost  people's  confidence  very 
completely.  His  misfortunes,  lately,  have  been 
marked.     A  freshet  swept  off  all  the  walnut 


262  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

timber  —  that  dreadful  timber  which  has, 
indeed,  seemed  to  have  a  curse  upon  it.  This 
may  sound  superstitious,  Lucy,  but  I  let  it 
stand.  They  saved  almost  nothing.  I  under- 
stand that  Mr.  Burkely  made  good  the  remain- 
ing payment.  He  was  down  here  for  a  day  or 
so,  but  did  not  seem  on  very  cordial  terms  with 
his  nephew.  Oh,  Lucy,  you  did  well  to  give 
him  up  !  His  conduct  this  winter  has  been — 
but  I  cannot  talk  of  it !  He  looks  so  different, 
so  dissipated.  The  mill  people  have  dismissed 
him.  He  wasn't  attending  to  his  work  at  all. 
From  what  I  hear  he  is  going  to  take  charge  of 
a  little  saw-mill  in  a  scrap  of  river  hamlet  be- 
low Kowena — a  settlement  at  which  the  Daniel 
Boone  stops  on  its  way  to  Nashville.  I  heard 
Mr.  Dunbar  tell  your  father  that  it  was  a  very 
rough  place.  He  said  that  last  year  they  had  a 
blind  tiger  there,  and  that  the  man  who  kept  it 
shot  a  revenue  officer  dead.  I  should  think  the 
villagers  would  have  naturally  objected  to  any 
one's  keeping  a  tiger  among  them,  though,  of 
course,  its  being  blind  would  make  a  difference. 
Still,  where  there  are  children  one  cannot  be 
too  careful.  It  might  have  got  loose  any  time. 
Yes,  Lucy,  Mr.  Dillon  leaves  on  Wednesday 
on  the  Daniel  Boone's  regular  trip.  There 
are  some  other  things  I  feel  impelled  to  write 
yon  about   him,  but  refrain,  since  I  am  not 


BOUKB  IK  SHALLOWS  263 

positive  in  my  information,  though  I  had  it 
pretty  straight.  Sufl&ee  it  to  say  that  this 
matter  only  points  the  more  deeply  his  weak- 
ness of  character,  his  lack  of  vigor  in  any  di- 
rection— " 

The  letter  fluttered  out  of  Lucy's  hand. 
Dillon  was  leaving  Streamlet,  more  than  ever 
in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  in  men's  eyes. 
Despised  and  forsaken,  he  was  turning  his 
face  to  a  wilderness  which  Lucy  tried  vainly  to 
picture  as  she  stared  out  upon  the  mountains 
and  saw  nothing  anywhere  for  all  her  seeking 
except  only  Dillon's  face. 

In  spite  of  everything,  that  image  had  not 
become  revolting  to  her.  There  were  power 
and  pathos  in  its  hold  upon  her  fancy.  She 
knew  that  to  think  of  him  as  she  thought  of 
him  involved  her  in  a  loss  of  all  spiritual  dig- 
nity, yet  day  by  day  the  thought  of  him  grew 
stronger  and  her  own  strength  less.  And  as 
she  read  the  letter  which  assured  her  still  more 
fully  of  his  worthlessness  and  completer  de- 
moralization, she  realized  very  clearly  at  last 
that  the  matter  had  no  longer  for  her  any 
moral  aspect  whatever. 

Dillon's  delinquencies  were  a  part  of  him,  an 
actual  part  of  that  personality  to  which  her  af- 
fections simply  and  doggedly  clung.  She  was 
not  duped  now  by  any  such  vista  of  change  in 


264  BOUND  m  SHALLOWS 

him  as  had  widened  upon  her  dazzled  eyes  in 
the  upland  pasture,  when  he  lay  Aveeping  on  the 
ground  and  a  transport  of  devotion  lifted  her 
soul  to  a  sense  of  the  sweetness  of  upholding 
and  saving  him.  She  knew  that  it  was  not  now 
a  question  of  saving  him.  She  could  not  lift 
him,  but  she  could  sink  to  the  levels  where  his 
walk  must  be,  and  share  with  him  the  life 
which  he  had  chosen,  or  which  he  had  at  least 
not  chosen  to  avoid. 

No  vision  oi  angels  now,  no  flinging  of  palms 
or  echo  of  victorious  hosannas,  no  soaring 
heavenward,  no  joy  of  expiation.  Nothing  but 
a  hand  upon  her  heart  which  drew  her  down. 
That  was  all. 

Lucy  rose  suddenly  and  paced  about  the 
room,  pushing  back  her  hot,  heavy  hair.  It 
was  Tuesday.  To-morrow — even  so  soon  as 
to-morrow — he  would  be  leaving  Streamlet  ! 
There  was  scarcely  time  to  reach  him — scarce- 
ly time.  She  flung  the  door  open  in  a  breath- 
less haste,  and  cried  out,  "  Oh,  Janet !  come 
and  help  me  get  ready.  My  trunk,  you  know  ! 
It  must  be  packed.  Fm  going  home  early 
in  the  morning.  Oh,  if  there  were  a  train  to- 
night !" 

Janet  got  up,  setting  an  aghast  look  on 
Lucy's  crimson  cheeks  and  bright  wide  eyes 
and  tumbling  hair.    She  knew  enough  of  Lucy's 


BOUND  IN  SUALLOWS  266 

story  to  fear  some  news  of  Dillon  had  brought 
about  this  sudden  resolution. 

"Honey/^  she  faltered,  '*  you 'ain't  changed 
your  mind  respectin'  Mm,  have  you  ?"  She 
caught  some  confirmation  in  Lucy's  face,  and 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  wailed, 
"Don't  you ! — don't  you,  Lucy  ! — don't  you  go 
back  to  that  no  'count,  triflin'  scamp  !  If  yon 
do  you'll  repent  it  till  the —  " 

*'0h,"  cried  Lucy,  laughing  lightly,  "he 
isn't  much  worse  than  other  people !  Or  if  he 
is,  I  don't  care  anything  about  it." 

"  Lucy  I" 

"¥o,  I  don't  care." 

Taliaferro  chanced  to  be  in  the  station  at 
Streamlet  upon  the  following  morning  when  the 
North-bound  train  dashed  from  the  cut  below 
the  hotel.  He  had  been  writing  a  message  on 
a  yellow  pad  of  telegraph  forms,  and  the  pen 
was  still  in  his  hand  as  he  glanced  from  the 
barred  window  and  saw  Lucy  stepping  from  the 
foremost  car.  He  stood  motionless  with  his 
eyes  upon  her,  dazed  a  little  at  the  unexpected- 
ness of  the  sight. 

Lucy  did  not  see  him,  though  she  was  look- 
ing about  her  in  a  searching,  restless  sort  of 
way,  as  if  the  thronged  platform  and  heaped 
freight  cart  and  distant  hills  and  red  church 


266  BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS 

spire  and  cold  gray  sky — all  appealed  to  her, 
yet  could  not  arrest  her  attention.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  noise  about  the  station: 
boys  were  shouting  in  the  school-house  yard ; 
cocks  crew  lustily ;  the  engine  issued  a  whir  of 
steam ;  and  the  Daniel  Boone,  away  down  at 
the  landing,  in  a  clear,  continuous  blast,  an- 
nounced the  hour  of  its  departure.  Yet  for 
all  the  affluence  of  sound  Taliaferro  seemed 
to  himself  to  be  aware  only  of  Lucy's  voice, 
ringing  softly  in  a  greeting  here  and  there  to 
some  one  of  the  throng  about  the  tracks. 

She  wore  a  long  twist  of  gray  fur  around  her 
throat.  Her  face  was  radiant  with  unusual 
color,  her  brownish  eyes  suffused  with  an  eager 
light.  As  she  spoke  many  little  smiles  played 
upon  her  lips.  Taliaferro  had  never  seen  her 
in  so  marked  a  mood  of  joyousness,  and  some 
strange  fervor  of  hope  seized  him  as  he  wit- 
nessed it.  She  had  forgotten,  then,  all  the 
misery  of  her  sad  and  mistaken  troth.  She 
had  outlived  the  thought  of  Dillon.  She  had 
come  home  lovelier  than  ever,  happy,  restored. 
Surely  her  heart's  depths  had  not  been  griev- 
ously touched  when  she  could  so  soon  look  like 
this  !  She  seemed  even,  so  he  thought,  a  little 
excited,  a  little  wild  in  the  pleasure  of  being 
home  again.  He  felt  that  he  must  go  out  to  her 
and  tell  her  in  some  moderate  and  composed  way 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  267 

— if  he  could  manage  this — ^how  her  return  re- 
joiced them  all.  She  must  not  miss  a  single 
hand-grasp,  a  solitary  face. 

Lucy  herself,  standing  on  the  station  steps, 
was  sensible  that  she  was  talking  rapidly  to 
the  sawyer  and  a  villager  or  so  hard  by.  She 
could  see  that  they  were  rather  surprised  at  her 
interest  in  the  health  and  welfare  of  their  fami- 
lies. Meanwhile  she  waited  for  the  train  to  go 
and  leave  the  hill  road  clear,  so  that  she  could 
see  if  Dillon  had  already  started  down.  Per- 
haps he  was  not  yet  gone  ?  She  glanced 
towards  the  hotel,  at  the  gate  of  which  a 
sturdy  pair  of  horses  harnessed  to  a  buggy 
was  whinnying  and  champing.  And  as  she 
did  so  the  wide  office  door  burst  open  in  a 
sudden  and  startling  kind  of  fashion,  and  a 
gay,  noisy  group  precipitated  itself  upon  the 
porch. 

A  very  demonstrative  leave-taking  seemed 
to  be  in  progress  up  under  the  wintry  vines 
and  delicate  shadows  of  the  beeches.  Some 
one  was  crying,  too,  though  the  laughter  con- 
tinued, while  a  choked,  burly  sort  of  voice 
called,  loudly,  "  Here,  now,  maw,  you  want 
to  quit  this  !  Brace  up,  can^t  you  !  Don't  you 
make  her  break  down  right  at  the  last,  with  the 
Daniel  Boone  blowin'  to  start !  They'll  miss 
the  boat  if  you  carry  on  like  that  \" 


268  BOUND  m  8HAI4LOWS 

Lncy  turned  to  the  sawyer,  asking,  ^'Why, 
what  is  all  this  ?" 

The  sawyer  gave  an  amused  gurgle  as  he  in- 
quired, '*  You  mind  Alexy  Bohun,  don't  you  ? 
She  got  married  this  morning.  Yes  'm,  Alexy's 
married  !  Lord,  I've  known  her  since  she  was 
a  baby  !" 

"  Married  !"  cried  Lucy,  smiling.  "  How 
strange  that  I  never  heard  a  word  of  it." 

''  They  hain't  made  much  of  a  splurge,"  put 
in  the  blacksmith.  "  Y'  see,  McBeath's  only 
been  dead  like  about  four  month.  M'  wife,  she 
thinks  it's  scan'lous.  But  I  says  like  this  : 
'  Beau  won't  be  not  a  mite  deader  twenty  years 
hence  'n  he  is  right  now.'  That's  what  I  told 
her.  They  say  the  Bohuns  didn't  favor  the 
match  none ;  but  Alexy,  she's  a  hull  team,  she 
is,  with  a  little  dog  under  the  wagon.  She 
had  her  way,  Alexy  did  !" 

"And  whom  has  she  married  ?"  asked  Lucy, 
arresting  herself  to  exclaim,  "Oh,  here  she 
is !"  as,  surrounded  with  chattering  girls, 
Alexa  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  hotel 
steps. 

Alexa  it  was,  certainly,  smiling  through  her 
tears,  and  blushing  and  dimpling  and  bridling 
under  the  lofty  plumes  and  lavish  bows  and 
buckles  of  her  overtrimmed  hat.  She  carried 
a  bunch  of  roses,  and  as  she  advanced  she  tossed 


BOUKB  IN  etHALIiOWS  269 

the  loose  red  flowers  into  the  hands  of  the 
langhing  horde  about  her,  while  a  few  of  the 
falling  petals,  blowing  outward,  flecked  as  with 
drops  of  blood  the  path  before  her.  Behind 
her — but  who  was  this  behind  her,  taking 
her  hand  to  lead  her  gayly  down  the  steps  ? 
Who  was  the  young  man  waving  with  so 
familiar  a  gesture  this  half  -  sportive,  half- 
contemptuous  farewell  to  the  throng  on  the 
porch  ?  Lucy,  staring  over  the  whinnying 
horses,  noted  Dillon's  careless,  lifted  face  and 
slender,  moving  hand.  He  looked  stouter  than 
she  remembered  him,  with  a  thickness  of  the 
eyelids  and  a  broken  color  in  the  full  cheeks. 
He  was  changed  indeed,  but  it  was  Dillon. 
It  was  he  who,  a  little  uncertainly,  wheeled 
about  to  snatch  from  one  of  the  chattering 
girls  the  bride's  rose  she  had  thrust  in  her 
hair. 

There  was  a  movement  about  the  buggy,  a 
cry  of  farewell ;  the  horses  dashed  over  the 
tracks,  and  the  light  clangor  of  handfuls  of 
rice  tinkled  on  the  buggy-top.  Then  the  brow 
of  the  hill  suddenly  blotted  out  the  vehicle, 
the  hotel  gate  banged,  the  girls  flew  up  the 
path,  the  ofl&ce  door  slammed  to. 

Lucy  was  still  standing  on  the  platform  step. 
She  had  become  very  white,  and  Taliaferro  as 
he  approached  her  began  to  understand  from 


270  BOUND  IN   SHALLOWS 

her  change  of  countenance  that  Dillon's  mar- 
riage had  taken  her  unawares.  He  hardly 
dared  encroach  upon  the  fixed  vacancy  of  con- 
templation which  held  her ;  but  people  were 
beginning  curiously  to  observe  how  strange  and 
still  she  looked,  with  strands  of  fair  hair  blow- 
ing across  her  empty  eyes,  and  all  the  color 
lapsing  even  from  her  lips. 

"Is  it  really  you  ?"  asked  Taliaferro,  there- 
fore, as  he  came  towards  her.  "You  know 
how  welcome  you  are !" 

Lucy  appeared  to  take  him  in  without  imme- 
diate recognition.  There  was  a  little  pause, 
which  the  young  man  found  embarrassing. 
Then  she  started  and  gave  a  quick,  gasping 
breath  and  a  suppressed  note  of  exclamation 
with  the  air  of  one  who  wakens  suddenly  from 
a  bad  dream  and  is  relieved  and  reassured  to 
see  a  kind,  familiar  face  close  by. 

She  drew  a  hand  from  her  muff  and  held  it 
forth ;  and  as  Taliaferro  clasped  it  he  took  the 
little  travelling-bag  from  her  arm  and  asked, 
"  May  I  carry  this  burdensome  affair  up  hill 
for  you  ?" 

"Will  you?"  said  Lucy.  "I  dreaded  the 
lonely  walk." 

And  together  they  crossed  the  rutty  road 
and  went  up  the  rise,  and  presently  disap- 
peared under  the  lacing  branches  of  the  high- 


BOUND  IN  SHALLOWS  271 

land  trees,  beyond  which,  in  the  early  gray- 
ness  of  the  overcast  sky,  a  slender  rift  of 
warm  blue,  almost  unseen  as  yet,  was  begin- 
ning to  break,  in  promise  of  sunshine  and 
spring. 


THE  END 


UC  SCWTHERN  REGONAL  UBRABY  FAQUTY 


A     000  131  212     3 


